Poikaer Captive in Shadow
by OnyxWritter
Summary: [ AU- Version of Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow. Harry/ Fem. OC ] All Harry knows is how to fight and how to survive. In a sick, masochistic way he longs for the chaos battle and war brings. In a powerful surge of accidental magic, Harry Potter gets exactly what he asks for deep within the crumbling dungeons of the Stronghold known as Dol Guldur.
1. Disclaimer & Summary

**Disclaimer**

I do not own "The Hobbit Trilogy", nor do I own "The Lord Of The Rings Trilogy". J.R.R. Tolkien does.

I do not own "The Harry Potter Series" J.K. Rowling does.

All characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien and J.K. Rowling, except the few I have created for this Fan-Fiction. The plot-twists also belong to me.

No part of this Fan-Fiction publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission from me.

 **Copyright © 2018 by OnyxWritter. All Rights Reserved.**

 **Summary**

Harry Potter has never been the same since the war. Countless friends, comrades and allies lost to pure-blooded wizard supremacists. The Wizarding World mourned for the loss of magical blood, although none other felt it more deeply than Harry. Weary from battle, haunted by the deaths he couldn't have prevented, Harry became restless. The public viewed him as a hero and placed him on a pedestal. The remaining friends and family he had left were consumed by grief, none noticing his crumbling visage.

As Master of Death, The Chosen One, and The Powerful One; Harry struggles to find meaning in his post-war life. After all the near-death experiences, pain and suffering he's gone through, a tranquil life is all but terrifyingly foreign to him. All Harry knows is how to fight and how to survive. War left its imprint, he feels it deep in his bones. Sees the horrors and excitement of it with his eyes. Beats in sync with his heart.

In a sick, masochistic way he longs for the chaos battle and war brings. Because it's all he knows, it's familiar.

In a powerful surge of accidental magic, Harry Potter gets exactly what he asks for amongst the mysterious, war-mongering lands of Middle-Earth. Although, maybe he gets more than he originally wished for, in the descending Darkness encroaching on the land. Originating from the southwestern part of Mirkwood, cross rocky and barren hills deep within the crumbling dungeons of the Stronghold known as Dol Guldur.


	2. Exordium

**Exordium**

 **Presently In Middle-Earth**

Harry was quick to pry the crude bone-shaft blade from the deformed, ghoulish fingers of the cross-breed between house elf and goblin, above him. Swirling around and butting the edge of the bone-carved handle against the beast's temple, he stumbled on his feet before regaining his balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands firmly grasped on the handle Harry wearily held his ground. Holding the bone shaft blade steadily, level with his nose-cheek bone.

The ghoulish beast recovered from his daze and surged forward bringing a broad sword down. Quickly, with reflexes much faster than he was used to, his stolen crude weapon clashed with the broad blade. Breathing steadily, eyes trained on his opponent, Harry watches as a cruel, blood-stained, fiendish snarl creeped along its butchered lips. Beady-eyes alight with murderous glee bored down onto Harry's. Ears straining he could make out the sound of shuffling, heavy footsteps clamoring to his current location. Arms straining with the effort brought forth by the sheer brutality of the beasts blade, Harry snarled and pushed back.

 **"** Lul Gijak-Ishi!" (You have flowers in your blood!) The beast snarled, pushing back with his massive bulk. Pressing his current advantage, he leaned closer to Harry's contorted face. The smell wafting of his rotting skin was enough to make Harry gag. In what passed as a gnarled croon the beast said, "Kurv!" (Whore!). It then proceeded to lick his face, as if salivating at the thought of pleasuring itself with Harry's corpse. Grunting and with no small amount of disgust, Harry dislodged the broad blade against his and with a finesse renowned of all Gryffindor seekers, quickly flashed his crude blade across the beasts neck. Swiftly severing the carotid artery, rendering the surprised beast useless to save its own life.

"Mirdautas vras!"(It is a good day to kill!) Another crudely armored beast scathingly screeched as it glimpsed Harry in its peripheral. Charging with a mighty war cry, it swung its blade in a down ward stroke attempting to rid Harry of his arm. Jumping out of the way , a mere breath from having his arm severed, Harry ducks and slices at the beasts exposed calves before smashing his elbow behind the beasts head. Causing it to stumble and cry out in pain. Three more beasts charged through the clearing and surrounded him at all sides. The tallest of the bunch, consequently the only one carrying a makeshift shield, with an upward stroke slashed at Harry's exposed back. Hissing in pain, Harry side steps to avoid another swiveling blade cutting into his flesh. Pounding his bone-blade on the smaller of the beasts he successfully broke through the chest plate and sliced deeply into the decaying flesh underneath.

Grasping at the hilt of the fallen beasts broad sword, Harry charged at his remaining attackers. Feeling adrenaline coursing through his veins, untapped power pulsing within his bones prompting him to release it all in one powerful surge. Roaring in rage he clashed ferociously with his enemies. The sounds of swords clashing echoing forebodingly through the silent woods.

Harry narrowed his eyes, he focused on the creatures movements. How they stiffly moved, which limb they favored, how long it took them to land a deafening blow. Compared to the Death Eater's , these creatures lacked all sense of mild strategy and charged head-on before any plan was ever concocted. This worked in his favor, though lacking in sufficient skill with a blade, Harry more than made up for it with sheer determination, endurance and inner-strength.

One of his attacker's slashed a blow at Harry's legs attempting to sever or seriously maim. Harry dodged then slashed a deep gaping wound on the attacker right across his neck. Black, ghoulish blood sprayed across Harry's face and chest. Retreating and blocking any attempts to sever his head from his neck, Harry soon began noticing the pattern of his enemy's movements. Slowly, the attackers swung their broad swords in different directions. Harry blocked and diverted a blow to his side, embedding the blade on a hollow tree trunk. Unknowingly, Harry left himself open for a scant few seconds, but it was enough to land a nasty long gash across his abdomen. Scarlet blood began pooling immediately on his breeches and tainting the ground below.

"Arrgh" Harry pulled away, and swung with everything he had left. Clashing blades and severing an appendage. While the maimed house-elf-goblin yowled and clutched at his stump, Harry was tackled by the unarmed one, the beast immediately began wrapping its leathery-ghoulish fingers around his neck. Effectively cutting off his air-supply. Writhing underneath it, Harry tried unwrapping the beast's hands from his neck with his wounded arm, while the other slowly plunged the crude-blade onto the exposed neck area of his enemy. The effect was immediate, gurgling, Harry watched as the beast's eyes became glazed over and inhaled a breath of precious oxygen as the fingers around his neck loosened. Gasping for breath, he slowly rolled over and wrapped his shaking hands across the hilt of his broad sword. Breathing heavily, Harry clumsily made his way to the yowling beast. Raising his broad sword overhead, he brought it down embedding it in the beast's skull.

Drawing his blade, Harry removed his broad blade with a sickening, squelching sound. Putrid blood poured out of the entry wound and coursed down the grotesque visage of the beast. As soon as the tip of the blade came out, the creature's body slumped over with a thud.

Taking stock of his surroundings, Harry tried to find the direction he was heading before being ambushed by those creatures. He had no possible theory on what those creatures could possibly be, nor did he have the slightest inclination as to why he was specifically targeted. As if he hadn't had enough questions circulating inside his head, the pesky thoughts and concerns creeped up on him. Where was he? For how long has he been here? Was he alive or dead? Why did he feel a strange pull to the woods he was currently in? Too many questions and not enough answers.

Hiding his crude blade behind his shredded shirt, on his lower back, Harry turned his attentions to the injuries he had sported. Nothing overly serious besides a few scrapes and bruises, gashes on and around his upper torso. If only he still had his potions and healer's bag. After being chased by those pointy-eared fair haired and faced people? Angels? Mythical creatures? Harry bolted, feeling over-whelmed and perhaps a-tad – spooked when they all of a sudden began looking at him as a hero, no worse than a hero, a savior of a kind. As if he didn't have enough of 'savior business' back home in the wizarding world. Tearing apart a portion of his ruined shirt, Harry wrapped it across his abdomen tightly, staunching the bleeding. Gripping his long broad-blade again, he set about again, cautiously making his way deeper into the forest.

The forest seemed to null and eventually eclipse ones senses. For Harry, this feeling of powerlessness was all but familiar, instead of panicking like most would in this situation. He focused on what senses he could still use. At first, it was disorienting but after a few moments of getting used to the oppression. Harry was able to hear farther than previously. In the dark-ness, it was hard to tell how much time he had spent walking. Eventually, he began imagining whispers passing through the trees and their branches. Holding hushed conversations, as he walked pass. Constantly vigilant, looking over his shoulders and straining to hear the slightest of leaf rustlings. The deeper he ventured, the thicker and oppressive the branches ahead felt to Harry. Mist, or a type of chilling miasma spread across the tree tops, obscuring his view of the setting sun. For miles he walked , constantly fighting the panic of claustrophobia back , as the stench of rotting corpses, leaves and darkness encroached themselves upon him. Eventually, Harry found a path overgrown with ferns and knotted roots. Deciding to follow the path to where a possible exit to this accursed forest, he ventured on. He had no map, direction he could take, and no knowledge of the lands he transverses within. All Harry could do was follow his instincts.

Snap!

Harry immediately turned around and swung his blade in the direction the noise came from. He had expected another of those cross –breeds from earlier, but what appeared before him had him shocked.

Standing before him, easily blocking his broad sword, was a citizen from the pointy-eared pale haired creatures. Clad in forest green tunics and breeches, embroidered by fine silver embroidery and elegant, light-upper body armor. The armor itself appeared to be designed out of silver-leaves and vines.

A voice like whimsical bells reached Harry's ears. "Eithel govannen Healer curunir; im politelui ask an cín companui a services once ad-, please dab- ammen na escort cin na safetui" (Well met Healer Wizard; I politely ask for your company and services once again, please allow us to escort you to safety)

The language the fair creature before him used, was comforting and strangely beautiful. It was vastly different from any he had ever heard, flowing freely like a happily gushing stream in the midst of summer. It was laced with warmth and good intentions. Harry stepped backwards, a growing sense of anxiousness was slowly rising in his stomach. Creatures as fair as this could be dangerous, hiding contempt between lovely sounding words. But then, why did he help them earlier? A voice helpfully pointed out.

Another snap sounded from behind him. From his peripheral he saw a group of the pointy-eared people surround him. It's a trap! If he waits any longer he would have no chance to escape. Taking inventory on the various weapons and bows each threat had, Harry quickly decided on a reckless, last-ditch effort to escape.

Another voice from behind him spoke in the same lulling language as the creature before him, Harry assumed the second creature was asking the same question as before. Opting to live to fight another day, Harry swirled and began clashing with blades, fighting for his life. Something, he was incredible adept at.

Surprised exclamations escaped his possible captors, who quickly drew their own blades and began blocking Harry's attacks. Strangely enough, none of the attackers tried to behead or maim him in any way. The only attacks they made where to block or misdirect his own blade from hitting any vital spots. The grace in which they moved, the fluid movements they made with their glistening blades.

"I've done nothing but help you. Let me pass!" Harry snarled as he once again tried to break through the dance of blades he was currently engaged in. The lulling speech instantly ceased, the air rang with each of Harry's blows colliding with metal. Confused and almost concerned, glances where exchanged by the lithe group surrounding Harry. The only sound surrounding the group, was the sound of their heavy breathing, hoarse as it was. Sweat pooled at Harry's back, his arms ached with the strain of wielding his sword for an extended period of time.

"Tur- cin ú- heni- sindarin? What -o common, healer? Mín foeg cin baw harm" (Can you not understand sindarin? What of common, healer? We mean you no harm.)

Harry thought desperately, his abdominal wound has reopened and he was beginning to feel faint from blood loss. Again, the perplexed expression crossed his opponents. There was one thing Harry always excelled at, and that was surviving against all odds. Harry surged forward with a mighty war-cry and slashed against the opponent in front of him. Ducking to the side to refrain from being impaled, he rolled and slashed at their legs bypassing one' of his opponents defenses and slicing apart unprotected flesh.

"I warned you. Let me pass." He said, glaring at his opponents. One of his opponents darted forward as if to tackle him, Harry immediately slashed back-handedly. He then dashed to the side running in zig-zags. Behind him, he hears leaves rustling and the steady pants for breath from his pursuers. Cursing under his breath, Harry continued to push himself, ignoring the blazing white-hot pain from his abdomen and putting everything into his escape. His magical core has been nearly depleted, from what sorcery he knew not. His stamina and perseverance was running low, he idly wondered at the back of his mind, what could have possibly drained his magical energy so? Out of the corner of his eye, Harry swiveled to the right avoiding a vertical thrust in his direction. Tripping on his feet he rolled beneath the under bush and slid down a small incline using the momentum to speed-start his sprint. A trail of blood was caked on the leaves and twigs he brushed against in his crazed attempt to flee.

"Darth-!" (Wait! Please Wait!)

"Please darth-! Mín foeg cin baw harm!"(We mean you no harm!)

"Cín injured! Please darth-!"(You're injured! Please Wait!)

"Ha na- ú- safe!"(It is not safe!)

Ignoring the cries behind him, Harry continued to veer left and right trying to lose them. Panting for breath Harry tried to clear the black spots from his vision. He could feel his body begin to slow down exhausted from the day's earlier events. Valiantly, as any Gryffindor would do, he prevailed and pushed onwards. Muscles screaming for rest, slowed down by drowsiness and the remnants of adrenaline pumping through his veins, Harry broke through the trees coming upon a large emptied meadow before plummeting head first behind a hidden grove. Heaving pained breaths momentarily, before taking off again.

The sound of branches and vines being trampled upon alerted Harry to his still, persistent as ever, pursuers. Just like Tom and his merry band of Death Eaters. Bloody Brilliant. Suddenly, out of nowhere another blond haired pointy-eared purser landed right in front of Harry. Not able to veer much less stop, he collided roughly against the figure. Momentarily surprising him, before shakily rising to his feet again. His surroundings were dimmed, moving in a strange mirage of lights and shadows. Breathing became difficult. Hearing the faint sound of a sword being drawn Harry caught the weapon with his crude blade, having lost his broad sword somewhere along the way, the blades glinted ominously in the air as Harry and his attacker stood face to face , noses almost touching at their close proximity.

Harry immediately noticed the difference between this new arrival with that of his trampling pursuers. This fellow, had an air of nobility about him. The stern stance of his shoulders, the regal green and silver outer coat he wore, the silver trousers and black-knee length riding leather boots.

He had long, blond hair almost silver braided back from his handsome face. Hair slightly disheveled as if he had spent his time flying like the wind across falling leaves. Which added to his other-worldly appearance. His eyes framed by thick blonde-almost silver eye lashes brushed gently across his fair, pale face. A faint dust of rose colored his cheeks, a hint of a gash was on his cheek. Obviously fresh, on the right side of his face.

"Im finallui found cin."(I finally found you.)

The regal looking creature before Harry, murmured almost vagrantly. Before Harry could think of anything to escape, the dots in his vision clouded his eyesight, the nausea he held back came back with a vengeance. Consciousness waning, Harry felt a pair of strong arms steady him before a swift period of air-proneness passed and he was carefully placed against a warm chest.

Eyes fluttering closed, Harry's last thought was of a loyal house-elf releasing a shrill shriek of distress deep within the halls of Hogwarts.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original story (Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Chapter 9-10.**

 **~SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FOLLOWING & FAVORITING~**


	3. Chapter 1 Genesis

Chapter 1

 _Previously in Sprawling Scotland, Hogwarts Castle_

Walking through the ruble across the nonexistent, massive castle doors Harry felt his mauled heart clench agonizingly within his chest cavity.

The silence was deafening.

It echoed like crashing boulders against his sensitive eardrums. Everywhere he rested his eyes on, he was met with the desolate ruins of a once magnificent, magical, ancient structure of Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Like a dementor, Harry explored the castle ruins. Pushing apart once sturdy-looking entrance doors and beholding The Entrance Hall. Stone walls crumbled, splattered with brownish-wine colored stains, torches like the ones found in Gringotts melted down into blistered waterfalls against the very stone wall they called home. Glancing upwards, Harry was surprised to see the architecture design relatively unharmed. He wished he could say the same about the magnificent marble staircase that lead to the upper floors. It was coated in ash, ruble and scattered stone limbs.

Traversing through the wreckage Harry could just about imagine the drone of hundreds of screams vertebrate through the stone walls from the vaporized doorway to the right – into the small empty chamber off the hall. His heartbeat began to quicken at the mere thought of –screams in the air. A sick jolt went through him, along with anticipation for battle. Harry's eyes scanned The Entrance Hall one more time before lingering on a large brownish-wine stain to the left of the chamber. He could remember the petite form, covered in tattered Gryffindor robes laying sprawled across the marble stone. Ginger colored hair spilled into a gruesome halo, vivid-green eyes staring unseeingly up at him, lips spread into a resigned-loving smile in silent farewell, Harry wearily ran his fingers through his hair. Gripping the ink strands and pulling them painfully in his attempt to control his raging emotions.

"Anything's possible if you've got the nerve."

"Well, that was a bit stupid of you, seeing as you don't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who."

"I never really gave up on you. Not really."

"People think they know all there is to know about you, but the best bits of you are…heroic in really quite ways."

Harry swallowed thickly against the heavy lump in his throat. The familiar sting of tears prominent in his eyes as he quickly blinked them away. Enough tears have been shed for the dead, this past year alone. He continued his gait with a heavy air about his person. Eyes clouded in memories past.

"We're all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?"

Harry tried to shake loose the train of memories threatening to overwhelm him. His emotions where already a whirlwind, he didn't need any more triggers. Then….why was he exploring the ruins of Hogwarts? Breathing deeply, he kept his gaze focused on the path with the least amount of ruble in it.

Then something happened which made him immediately turn around, elder wand at the ready - a curse on his lips.

"Bloody Hell" he gasped. In front of him about a dozen or so ghosts streamed through the half-crumbled wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the space morosely. While others, seemed to gather together arguing heatedly. All except for one recognizable, ghostly figure.

"Harry Potter. It has been some time since last I've seen you –

"I-I thought you've all gone and disappeared forever! H-how…w-what… he spluttered, lowering the elder wand to his side.

"My dear Harry, this is our home. Or…what's left of it. We couldn't abandon it to ruin without attempting to rebuild it somehow." Nearly Headless Nick said, while floating though a fallen column.

"H-how are you all going to do that? If I may ask. There's so much wreckage, the ancestral magic Hogwarts had is all but gone! It took Godric Gryffindor centuries to accumulate such massive amounts of magical essence to even begin constructing Hogwarts"

"Ah. Yes brave Godric. Magnificent wizard I say. What you say may be true Mr. Potter, if only Godric was a 'normal' wizard. You see, what many didn't know about the first Gryffindor, was the fact he held the elder wand before your beloved Head Master Albus." At the mention of the elder wand, Harry tightened his hold on it subconsciously.

Nearly Headless Nick then turned and headed deeper into the ruins of Hogwarts. Sole patches of morning-sunlight filtered through the cracks in the ceiling. Casting oppressive shadows along the hall. Harry watched Nearly Headless Nick float away for a few moments, debating either or not to follow after the ghost and demand answers to his confusing revelation.

Harry's choice was made for him when the cause for his growing headache spoke up, "Are you coming Mr. Potter? I recon you're the new Master of the Elder Wand yes?" Harry stumbled on his feet before righting himself up again. Nick continued as if nothing happened, "We ghosts can't do much on our own to repair Hogwarts, much less the Ministry of Magic with all of the hexes and curses absorbed by the castle walls."

Following after the ghost, Harry oddly felt as though his legs had turned to bags of jelly. Was it possible to rebuild Hogwarts? Was it possible for him to gain his safe haven again? A place where everything he has been through did not matter, a place where the Daily Prophet and well-meaning witches and wizards could forget about 'The Savior'? A safe place for him to practice his magic in peace and solidarity? Perhaps he could venture as far as becoming an Auror or Head Master?

Well, someone's getting ahead of themselves aren't they? Psychologically, he is not compatible enough to either of those occupations. It's no wonder though, as sick and masochistic as it is, he needs to keep on fighting. To feel the thrill of dueling and overcoming the odds. The downfall of his desire for battle, are all the possible deaths he may cause. Unable to face the peace, the awe he has inspired in the Wizarding World, his only choice is to live without truly living.

Or is it?

Harry follows Nearly Headless Nick out of the crumbling chamber, back across the hall and through a pair of ash laden double doors into the remains of the Great Hall. During the war, the one place to go relatively unscathed was the Great Hall. It stood tall, sacred and proud, thousands of unlighted candles surrounded the great room. With the absence of magic, the candles were left looking like muggle table decorations, instead of the floating, whimsical items they truly where. Four long tables governed the majority of the space laden with dust covered golden plates and chalices. At the top of the Hall was another long table where twelve unoccupied high-back chairs resided.

"Tell me Mr. Potter, what do you think happened to all of the magical energy expended during the Fourth Magical War against…V-Voldemort, went to? The thousands of hexes and curses were absorbed by the castle walls yes. The stones themselves are in a way, living stone. Do you know what living stone is, Mr. Potter?"

Harry trailed behind the ghost and merely shook his head. Confused as to where Nick was getting too with this line of questioning.

"Living stone, is a magical embodiment of a reservoir. The reservoir collects magical energy both inside and outside the school grounds. As a living soul yourself, Mr. Potter, you can feel the vibrations of magical energy all around you in the Wizarding World. In Hogwarts though, you feel no such vibration. This is due not to the absence of magic as you believe so. But an obstruction, if you will, of sorts. After Godric gained the Elder Wand he inscribed the walls of Hogwarts in ancient runes of a lost tongue. Throughout the years, as thousands of students practiced magic the walls absorbed the residual energy. Now, you may be confused at this part." Nick turned his head over his shoulder to look at Harry, smiling at his confused expression before continuing on his history lesson.

"Godric foreseeing the eventual loss of the Elder Wand, took it upon himself to create a failsafe of sorts. The reservoir, as massive as it is, could not be placed for all to see or be so hidden as to leave future generations of witches and wizards without a magical tie to Hogwarts and its expansive knowledge. In order to hide the reservoir in plain view, but still be as inconspicuous as possible Godric transfigured it." Here Nearly Headless Nick stopped and turned to look at Harry fully. A serious expression on his ghostly countenance.

"The walls of Hogwarts are indeed significant in the restructuring of the school, yes. But we require…a conductor of sorts."

Harry worried his bottom lip, furrowing his brows in concentration. If he correctly understood what nick was implying…then that means….with a start Harry stared at Nick wide-eyed, slack-jawed and with the smallest strands of hope in his eyes. Nearly Headless Nick beamed at Harry, while nodding his head proudly.

"Like muggles conduct their…what was that term they used again...Ah yes! Electricity. Godric discovered the same concept muggles have over 'electricity'. In the case of wizards, this 'electricity' is our magical essence. Godric used a combination of his magical essence and that of the Elder Wand as the conductor for the reservoir. The walls of the school serve as storage space as well as 'impulses'. They absorb the positive and the negative essence Wizards release." Nick then points a ghostly hand in Harry's direction. "We found the conductor, which is you Harry and your wand, now we need to find the reservoir. For the magic to return to Hogwarts, we need to remove the obstruction that is prohibiting its flow freely. Once that has been completed, the magical essence stored in the living stone (it is living because it contains the magical essence of every wizard to ever walk the halls of Hogwarts and practice magic. Magical essence can additionally be referenced to a life-force); can be released in torrents. After the fall of the schools barrier during the war, the magical energy required to keep the barrier hole and the energy required to destroy it was stored and collected. Once it is released, the reservoir will be near full-capacity." Nick said ominously. Taking an unnecessary breath, Nick continued while continuously searching the ruble covered ground for something of interest.

"This burst of energy must be contained and directed…if not …."

"If not what? What happens if the energy is left to circulate without the reservoirs containments?" Harry pushed.

"It means that if the energy is not contained, it would be as if a massive Bombarda and Incendio were fused together and released in a muggle city. Only in this scenario, it will severely affect the Wizarding World…..what's left of it anyhow."

Harry looked across the Great Hall, taking note of every cobweb and crack on the walls before voicing his next question. "Nick...if what you're saying is true. Then how are you and the others still here if the reservoir has not been found, much less have magic to sustain yourselves? Unless..." Harry left the question hanging, feeling as if liquid ice coursed through his veins.

Nearly Headless Nick stopped searching the ruble and looked somberly down at Harry. "The reservoir is nearing full capacity. There are faint traces of magical impulses currently being released, it is such small amounts and occurrences that not all magical creatures are able to sustain themselves and fall into a trance-like sleep. This the reason there are no house-elves around, centaurs or any other Forbidden Forest creature has been seen around. There all in this trance. If we continue to leave the reservoir as it is, the slumbering creatures may just wake up only to meet their complete, utter demise."

Feeling the excitement bubble beneath his skin, Harry steeled his nerves and asked, "What does the reservoir look like, Nick?"

As if stating something completely obvious to the world, Nick responded with, "The Sorting Hat". Harry came to an abrupt halt and stared incredulously at a sheepish looking Nick. "The Sorting Hat is the reservoir?" Harry murmured, horror struck. "Yes, what did you think it was? A silly old, hat with nothing special about it? Ha! That crooked hat is older than me, by at least several centuries!"

Harry looked up at the ceiling, wordlessly asking for a reason to his dilemma. Instead of a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars, an enchantment to mirror the very heavens of the night sky, Harry was met with the skeleton of the ceilings impressive architecture design. While he continued to question the heavens, Nearly Headless Nick gave a loud exclamation, startling him out of his search for penance. Snapping his attention back on the misty white ghostly figure before him, Harry felt his heart skip a beat. There in between Nick's ghostly form and half fallen column, was the reservoir.

The Sorting Hat.

Getting a good look at, as he neared it, Harry could feel the faintest pulses of magic caress his skin. Alarmed at how potent such a faint pulse could be, Harry immediately grabbed the sorting hat and turned to Nick, a question visible from his eyes. Nick simply beckoned him closer to the middle of the Great Hall and in clear symmetrical placement beneath the cathedral of the room.

"With your wand, Mr. Potter repeat after me with a swish and flick, if you would."

"Reparo" Nick said simply. Harry looked severely dumbfounded and slightly annoyed but did as the cheeky ghost prompted.

As Harry murmured the incantation, he felt a sudden surge of warmth spread through his being as the magic coursed through his veins, down his arm, funneled through the Elder Wand and reached the Sorting Hat. A narrow beam of light was now connecting the Sorting Hat with Harry's Elder Wand.

"Remain focused Mr. Potter, the smallest distraction or magical interference can cause the reservoir to react in a way most deadly and unexpected." Nearly Headless Nick cautioned. Harry merely nodded and repeated the incantation again.

All around him, Harry could feel the magic thrumming from every crevice, wall, floor and arch of Hogwarts. Like a throbbing artery, the magical essence coursed through the inside and outside of Hogwarts, extended far beyond the Forbidden forest, Weeping Willow and surrounding lake. Encompassing the whole of Hogwarts grounds.

As the majority of Harry's attention was focused on the repairing and containment of the reservoir, he did not notice the golden magical strings attached to his person. Nor did he feel the presence of two house-elves bonded into his service. One by choice, the other by inheritance. Harry also did not notice the slow, and steady repairs going on through the ruble, nor did he think it unwise to think of his sweet Dobby and snarky Kreacher.

"Why would you look at that? Good job Mr. Potter, just like that. In a matter of time we will have this section of Hogwarts repaired in no time." Nearly Headless Nick crooned in satisfaction while floating around in wide circles, taking in the slow repairs being made to the Great Hall.

As the final vestiges of repairs were being completed, Harry chanced a question to Nick.

"Nick, as this section of the castle is already repaired. Does that mean the house-elves will be able to awaken now? Or would a specific portion of the castle need to be reconnected with the reservoir? I would like to see Dobby and Kreacher again." Harry said, unknowingly sealing his and Hogwarts fate for forever.

Nick turned, wide eyed with a shout of alarm. Harry confused by Nick's reaction turned his head slightly to see what had the ghostly figure so alarmed. That was when he felt the golden strings attached to his person.

That was when he felt his control slip in his relapse due to his shock.

As he tried to control the pouring magic from the reservoir and maintain a semblance of connection between the sorting hat and the Elder Wand, Harry was left stretched thin. Blinding light erupted and engulfed his entire field of vision. The last thing Harry James Potter saw was two small figures covered in filthy rags tied like a loincloth around their middle. One looked exceptionally old, with its skin several times too big for it while the other was considerably younger with firmer skin. Both figures were bald with a small quantity of snow-white hair growing out of their large bat-like ears. Eyes wide open in startling shades of luminescent green and blood shot watery grey, fleshy snout like noses.

Both figures, with a resounding crack of lightning apparated in front of a horrified Harry.

"Master Potter! Dobby is very happy to see his beloved master again!" a squeaky, ecstatic voice chimed.

"M-Master Potter. What would you like Kreacher to do?" a deep voice like a bullfrog's asked.

Like a chain reaction, the magical energy from the house-elves apparition combined with the opened reservoir and the Elder Wand, an explosion of incredible magnitude occurred.

With the rumbling of thunder before a destructive thunderstorm, the reservoir collapsed in of itself, magical essence erupted like an out of control fiendfyre. Covering everything within the room as well as swallowing Harry up, before churning violently, chaotically before a resounding BOOM echoed of the walls.

The last thing Harry Potter ever saw and heard, was the thundering of an explosive outburst of accidental, ancestral magic consuming everything in its vicinity whole.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original story (Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Chapter 9-10.**

 **~SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FOLLOWING & FAVORITING~**


	4. Chapter 2 Purgatory

**Chapter 2**

 ***Excerpts from 'Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone' by J.K. Rowling in this chapter. All credit goes to her. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

 **In this instant-** _T.A._ _2770_

Harry stirs awake with a start, terrified virescent eyes wide open, heart lodged in his throat. Slowly, with the ease of one used to life-threading situations, he moves reflexively. Automatically taking stock of his bleary surroundings, functioning body parts and wand.

Finding nothing amiss but a searing headache behind his eyes, Harry slowly stands but for a moment his legs give out, taut leg muscles spasm involuntarily. Trying to regain control of his body and processing the events that just occurred, Harry retches at the enormity of his predicament. Losing track of time and the meager sustenance in his stomach, he rises to his feet. Blinking away the blurriness and focusing on the crisp surroundings before him.

Where large piles of rubble, crumbling columns and grand Great Halls once stood dejected and broken. Now lay coated in blinding silver-gold magical essence.

'It looks like star-dust' he thinks offhand. Breathing in, he can taste the heavy presence of ancient, ambient magic in the air. Coating every surface, replenishing and reshaping the broken majesty it called home for countless centuries.

After a second or two his head turns to his right, mouth immediately slack, "Nick? Dobby? Kreacher?" a strangled gasp passes through his lips as his mind tries to comprehend what his eyes are witnessing. The air in front of him, which used to shimmer faintly, slowly began to corporatize, warping and twisting itself into a solid-like mass. In a flash of pale, pearly-white light Nearly Headless Nick appeared before Harry. Though, before him stood a man he both did and did not recognize. Instead of a ghostly figure, Nearly Headless Nick stood nearly solid in his new corporal form. If Harry didn't know better he would have thought him to be alive and breathing. Sadly this was not to be true, Nick seemed to glow with an inner light that was decidedly inhuman and magical in nature. An enigma he will have to further explore at a later date. Standing by the 'Corporal' figure of Nick, where none other than Dobby and Kreacher.

Both house-elves sported new attire- gone where the dirty loin cloths and pillow cases- clad in crisp old fashioned Wizarding clothes. For Dobby, he wore the Gryffindor house colors- scarlet and gold vest and trousers embroidered with Godric's insignia of a roaring lion- ; Kreacher wore the colors of his favored house, Slytherin – inky black and sickly green with Salazar's insignia of a curled basilisk. Similar to 'Corporal' Nick, the house-elves glowed their distinctive wizarding house colors. A peculiarity most befuddling for Harry.

"How are you feeling Mr. Potter? Anything out of the ordinary? Are you seeing flying gnomes of the sort?" Nearly Headless Nick quipped, effectively drawing Harry from his perplexed stupor. "What? I feel fine, better than fine considering…." He trailed off, brows scrunched in confusion. "There was an explosion….the ancestral magic grew out of control….how are we all still alive after being exposed to large quantities of pure energy?" Harry began pacing running terse fingers through his hair before snagging a strand harshly. Hissing under his breath he pulls back his hand only to stare at it horrified. There, on his ring finger rested the resurrection stone, glinting bewitchingly in the silver-gold light being emitted by his skin.

"Are we dead, Nick?" he asks in a hushed whisper while studying the hand beholding the despicable Hollow.

"Not necessarily. It appears the essence released caused physiological as well as biological changes in each one of us. Some more prominent than others. I would theorize that for the house-elves, the ones particularly bonded to you, gained a larger magical core. As for me, well I am not exactly living nor was I before the incident. This new form, while not exactly a solid mass nor transparent, is able to recognize and feel certain pulses of energy. Strange." Nick hovered (or was it appropriate to call it glided?), to a glowing long-table and ran his corporal-ghostly fingers across the reshaped surface.

Harry gazed down at his hand again. Refusing to gaze at the Hollow resting harmlessly on his finger, and began examining the changes of his skin. He was pale before, but this shade of pale was creamier. Giving Harry the absurd idea of an internal "Lumos" and "Patronus" beneath his skin, casting him aglow like a star.

"It is, as if the essence itself courses through my very being. Like silk if you will, Mr. Potter. The pulse of the essence around us, shimmers and beats like a heartbeat. But I can also feel, outside the essence, for example. I have the strangest impulse to venture outside the Great Hall and far beyond the grounds of Hogwarts at this very moment. The call of it, the lure of the pulse is wild, disoriented and…..wholly unknown. It is unlike anything our world has ever seen much less felt."

Harry nodded sensing the strange impulses himself. It was unlike anything he has ever felt before. While the magic, no, the very air itself he breathed was warm and familiar, the few strands of wild, foreign magic slowly creped in. It was not all harmless, there was something distinctly 'unpredictable' about it. Harry got the strangest feelings from it when he reached out with his own. A sudden warmth surrounded his magic, passionate and insatiable. He shuddered away from it, slamming his Occlumency shields in place.

For some reason, the foreign magic affected him more than the others. Harry couldn't decide if this was a good thing or not.

Large pieces of stone grated against the floor before flying up and blending itself with the surrounding walls. Columns rose from their resting places and floated across the Great Hall making themselves whole again with their missing counter parts. Great arch ways took shape and soon the magnificent cathedral was whole again, no trace of the desolate, war-mongered state it was in left behind. Dobby shuffled his way over to Harry and bowed lowly.

"Master Potter, sir. What may Dobby do for you?" Kreacher followed closely behind, eyeing the strange-yet familiar sight of the Great Hall with a suspicious, critical look.

"Come along Dobby, Kreacher." Harry motioned with his hand and began walking towards the repaired Great Entrance Doors. 'Corporal' Nick followed closely behind, muttering pleased, joyful exclamations at the repaired cracks and fissures. Blood stains were nonexistent, picture frames breamed with life once again as their Wizards and Witches of old returned, ghosts floated about exploring the castle.

"Has anyone explored the outside of the castle? How much has been repaired and caught up in the explosion besides us?" Harry questioned.

"From what Kreacher has been able to see, the residents from the inside are all accounted for." Kreacher supplied, while rubbing a clean cloth over Regulus's locket.

"Restructuring from the inside has been near completion. A few house-eves have awoken and have begun their daily chores. It seems, Mr. Potter, the residents who were last to succumb to the lack of magical essence have begun to awaken first than the ones who've been 'in sleep' for far longer." Nearly Headless Nick explained, running idle fingers across the walls smiling in delight as the tendrils of essence created silvery-gold swirl designs along the trail his fingers passed through.

"There's a good possibility then, the outside grounds are still under the forced hibernation. If this is true, the castle will be defenseless."

At this Nick looked troubled, "You believe wherever we have been transported too could be dangerous?"

"This is a strange land with even stranger magic. It is wise to hear on the side of caution until we prove without a doubt no harm will befall the residents of Hogwarts. Especially when the castle itself is being repaired." Harry reasoned. Sometime during his explanation, Dobby had summoned a long piece of parchment and quill and was scribbling away. Muttering about stocking the kitchen and ferrying out mops and brooms.

"You make a sound argument. I assume, we are to search the grounds for any inhabitants that have awoken then?" Nick glanced at Harry, tilting his head questionably.

"This will prove to be prudent. Perhaps we could enlist the help of the centaurs (if they have somehow managed to arrive along with us) to help scour the grounds. Any kind of defense will be welcomed." Harry paused momentarily before reaching out with his magic once again. Feeling the pulsing heart beats of Hogwarts. Searching for the sapling presence of Hogwarts barrier. "Hogwarts needs a line of defense while the barrier gains strength once again. At the rate of construction, and the amount of magic coursing through the channels and the reservoir promptly maintained, the barrier should be in full-power by the end of the week. Does my estimation correlate with yours Nick?"

The small group reached the end of the Entrance Hall and opened the heavy doors to the outside. Creaking softly, the castle gates spread wide open. Harry holds his breath. Anxious to see the destruction brought upon the war, and the desolation wrought after his duel with Tom Riddle, erased from his haven.

An expanse quadrangle met him. A cloister with an open colonnade surrounding the entirety of the courtyard. Two massive checkpoint towers flanked its way to the Viaduct. Slowing his gait to a stop, Harry examined the stone walkway that lead to the Quad and the Viaduct entrance. All around, the court yard was partially paved in a cross pattern.

Seeing with his own eyes, the destruction erased as if it never existed, Harry found himself bereft. Bereft of any joy or satisfaction in having survived such an ordeal. All he felt instead was an over whelming urge to run from it all.

'Run to what end?'

'What are you running to?'

'Why run at all? Why not go forward?'

The suggestions kept going round and round in his head. Choosing to deal with the tundra of emotions within at a more convenient time, Harry exited the court yard and stepped out into the wilds.

Immediately Harry knew something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong. The air surrounding the castle smelled 'off'. A sick, churning settled in his stomach. Dobby and Kreacher's bat like ears twitched constantly. Sparks bursting in small spurs on their fingertips. Nick hovered between corporal and transparent forms. A nervous twitch on his face.

It was too quiet. Granted, the silence in the ruins of Hogwarts was oppressive but nothing compared to the silence of the woods surrounding them. For a world bursting with wild magic, the signs of life were abysmal at best. The calls of the ravens echoed strangely as if communicating with each other in frantic 'caws'. The surrounding grass was a sickening mixture between subdued yellow-green and sea-weed green.

"The Forbidden Forest?" Nick wondered, casting an eerie gaze into the woods. Harry wasn't so sure. Pouring his magic outwards to the trees, Harry felt the same strange ambient magic intermingling with the familiar essence from the Forbidden Forest.

"Yes and No, Nick. It seems the Forbidden Forest has somehow meshed itself with an existing equivalent to it in this new world." Harry pursed his lips thinly. What strange creatures could be found in these woods? "Until we know what sort of creatures we may encounter, I think it best for us to gather the native creatures to our Forbidden Forest and house them inside the castle until the barrier surrounds the wooded area. Something foul resides in these woods." Harry walked inside woods, pulling out the Elder Wand, while saying over his shoulder "Nick search the west side, Kreacher you take the east, Dobby the south. Gather all those you can and quickly head to the castle. Any native's left behind I will gather. For now hurry. If you run across anything, threat it as a dangerous and deadly encounter. Use any means to ensure your safety. Understood?" He commanded.

Upon receiving three affirmatives, he turned his full attention to the sparse woods before him.

"It lingers in the air, the foul stench of sulfur and carbon." He whispered, eyeing a shriveled up piece of bark curiously.

So Harry set off into the heart of the Forest with the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone. He walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the Forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick.

A drop of mysterious fluid caught his attention, upon closer inspection he realized it was blood. The most peculiar aspect of the blood though, was the silvery sheen it held. With his free hand, Harry pressed the pads of his forefinger and middle finger on the surface of the small silver puddle. Rubbing it against his skin, examining the coagulation and clear-white liquid.

'No native in the forest contains clear silver as blood. Not even the unicorns, who are rare and few between. Their blood is a bright green with a silver hue.' He silently pondered.

Retracting his hand from the silver coated vine, Harry held the Elder Wand, in front of him ready to cast a curse if necessary. Following the trail Harry thought the blood seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of a familiar ancient oak.

'Is that –' he murmured, holding out his arm aiming his wand at the creature.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. He inched closer.

It was an Acromantula all right, and it was dead. Native Acromantula were not the most loved or rightful creatures housed in the Forbidden Forest, but were striking in their own right. Massive with muscled forms and intelligent beady eyes, capable of speech. The creature before him resembled his Acromantula in nothing but size.

Harry had never seen anything so malformed and sad. Its long bulging legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its coarse mane was spread ashen grey on the dark leaves.

Harry had taken one step towards it when a snarling sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered...

Then, out of the shadows, a hunched over four-legged creature came crawling across the ground like a stalking beast. Harry stood transfixed. The hunched creature reached the Acromantula, it lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to tear its incisors into its punctured outer shell, coating them in silver blood.

'SCREEEEEEEEEEEE!'

Another Acromantula let out a terrible shriek and collided with the four-legged wolf? – Clinking its poisoned pincers in the direction of its neck. Opting to observe the creatures of this world, Harry hid in the shadows. The Acromantula in this world were perhaps, the more primitive generation yet to evolve into the cunning form of Aragog.

The mud-colored wolf raised its head and looked right at Harry – silver blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came swiftly towards the offending Acromantula snapping its jaws around one of the Acromantula main legs. Twisting its head harshly to the left, effectively tearing the limb from the main body – the Acromantula began to move away in fear. The wolf lunged after it clasping its jaws behind its neck, silver blood spurting across its coat. With one more pitiful screech, the primitive Acromantula collapsed by the roots of the oak.

The wolf, for that is what Harry could only compare it too, was staggeringly large. Covered in patches of mud-brown fur and bald spots throughout its mane, growled menacingly at him before hunching down on its foreleg's preparing to leap into the air.

Elder Wand pointedly aimed at the wolf, a cutting curse on the tip of his tongue Harry opened his mouth and ….

He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over him, charging at the wolf. The sound of hooves pounding against flesh, the cracking of bone and the yowl of pain that followed alerted Harry of the wolf's incapacitation. The pounding against flesh and muscle continued for a minute or two before the only sound was that of ragged breathing.

Catching the view of his accomplice, Harry was delighted (if not a little disturbed by the gruesome skull crushing tinged with weary respect) to have a centaur standing in front of him, not Ronan or Bane; this one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

'Are you all right?' said the centaur, scrutinizing Harry from the top of his head to the bottom of his feet.

'Yes – thank you – what _was_ that?'

The centaur didn't answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like pale silver sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on the scar which stood out, livid, on Harry's forehead and on his silver-gold illuminated skin.

Similar to what occurred with the house-elves and Nick, the centaur wore a thin veil of ancient essence on his person making him look all the more the stuff of myth. 'Headmaster Potter,' he said. 'You had better get back to Hogwarts. The Forest is not safe at this time – especially with the new creatures intruding upon it. It seems this new world as the house-elf called it, is one to be weary off."

"Are there others with you….?"

"My name is Firenze," he said as he lowered himself on to his front legs to bow in Harry's direction. Ill at ease with the notion, Harry bowed his head in deference.

"A small herd, the one's that survived the blood bath and hunting games with the Death Eater's, managed to hide and find shelter within Hagrid's pot of land. When the magic began to diminish we few of the herd were transported over." Firenze explained. "We few centaurs have been searching for others per the orders of the house-elf, Dobby, in your stead…"

There was suddenly a sound of more galloping from the other side of the clearing. Ronan and Bane came bursting through the trees, their flanks heaving and sweaty.

'Firenze!' Bane thundered. 'Have you found the Headmaster yet? These woods are perilous even for us. The simpleton offspring of the Acromantula have been trying to plunder our already greatly diminished herd.'

'I found him.' Said Firenze motioning to Harry. 'I have been reporting our finding's just as you've arrived.' Bane sent a meaningful, disgusted look in the direction of the mauled Acromantula corpses and the caved in wolf skull. 'The more filth we eliminate from our forest the safer it shall be for all of us.' Was Firenze's simple explanation.

Nodding his dark head in acquiescence Bane asked, 'Since you have been one of the first of our herd to awaken, have you been able to read the stars and the movements of the planets in this realm?'

Ronan pawed the ground nervously.

'I'm sure Firenze and many others have tried. It is still day time, we will have to wait till evening to map out this new realm and be able to divine as is our nature. Though, the very air and magical essence around the castle and forest is worrisome…what peculiarities will this cause in our reading of the stars I wonder…' he said, in his worrisome voice.

Bane kicked his back legs in frustration.

'Perhaps it is for the best to return to the safety of the castle. My blood boils at the notion of retreating from the interlopers in our sacred forest but it cannot be helped. This situation and our circumstances were not foretold. As far as we centaurs are concerned, we shall reconvene with those of us who have survived and awoken. The sooner we secure our safety, the sooner we can rid the invading vermin from our woods.' Firenze suddenly reared on to his hind legs in angst, Bane and Ronan soon followed. Nervous pawing from the centaurs caused Harry's paranoia to surface.

"What is it? What do you sense?" he asked hurriedly.

 _"_ _Vicious, dark greed …."_

 _"_ _Comes to plunder…"_

 _"_ _Coveted gold and jewels with a dark…"_

 _"_ _And fierce desire…"_

The centaurs intoned ominously. The foreboding feeling grew within Harry, as he glanced at the surrounding woods with a critical eye. Searching for the calamity that caused the unyielding centaurs to be severely disquieted. The centaurs whisked around; Firenze hoisted a perturbed Harry upon his back plunging off into the trees back to the relative safety of Hogwarts's grounds. Harry clutched on the best he could, as the centaurs barreled deeper into the woods. A nervous tension surrounding them.

Harry didn't have a clue what was going on. But it was dire enough to warrant constant vigilance on his part.

'Has the barrier been replenished, Headmaster Potter?' Ronan asked, panting from exertion. 'By the end of the week it will be at pull-power, for now we will practice constant vigilance until it is fully restored.' In the back of his mind, Harry amusedly thought back on Mad Eye's extremely questionable lesson's on maintaining constant vigilance.

Firenze slowed to a walk, and warned Harry to keep his head bowed in case of low-hanging branches but did not stop glancing anxiously around them. They made their way through the trees in silence. They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, however, when Firenze suddenly stopped.

 _"_ _Ere the sun passes midway the solitary peak_

 _Wrath and ruin shall befall all"_

Harry, startled by the odd declaration. Turned to face the lone solitary peak to the North. "It is a scant few hours before then."

"If what is to befall the lone mountain, I will adhere we make it to Hogwarts in due haste. We may not be able to defend against such a thing, if we do not." Bane cautioned, glancing at the peak in question. Harry stared at the back of Firenze's head, which was dappled silver in the morning light.

'But who'd be that desperate?' he wondered aloud. 'If you're going to bring forth a calamity why a mountain? What could demand such a fate surrounded by nothing but stone? What good are few precious jewels when food, water and your people are to be your primary concerns? Hmm. Something inside of me believes this world holds far more dangerous creatures than a few primitive Acromantula and overly-large wolfs."

It was as though an iron fist had clenched suddenly around Harry's heart. Over the rustling of the trees, he seemed to hear: " _I kill where I wish and none dare resist. I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today. Then I was but young and tender. Now I am old and strong, strong strong!"_

Harry shivered behind Firenze, the utter terror and hatred and contempt behind those words chilled him to the bone. What was that? Was it a differing form of Legimens? Are my Occlumency shields ineffective in this world? What can be so malevolent as to croon at the notion of passing death to others undeserving of it?

"Are you alright, Headmaster Potter?" one of the centaurs asked. Too deep in contemplation, Harry could not discern who it was that spoke.

'I'm fine,' said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. 'The castle grounds should not be more than a few miles from this point on..." he trailed off watching as the sun neared its midway point above the lone solitary peak. Dread slowly creeped up his spine, goosebumps broke out upon his skin, a cold sweat began coating him. 'This is where I leave you,' Harry murmured 'You are safe now.' Before sliding of Firenze's back. "What are you doing?" he asked concerned.

Harry continued walking north, unseeing but was able to respond to the centaur in a trance-like tone.

"There's a pull on my magic to head northward deeper into the woods. It calls to me most desperately. I have to protect it. I have to save it from His wrath and ruin."

He moved purposefully, without hesitation as his magic, heart and soul were pulled forward. Influenced by the wild, foreign magic around him.

His gait began into a steady jog. As the sun neared the midpoint behind the solitary peak, Harry's heart began thundering against his chest. In a full-blown panic, Harry ran for all his worth. That's when he felt it. The blood drained from his face. His breath rushed out of him in a loud 'whoosh'.

The wind howled animalistically. Pure adrenaline courses through his veins by this point. Raven locks whip around his head violently, he strains his eyes unable to see. Torn robes slap hurtfully against his torso. The trees creak and moan pitifully as their limbs were turbuntly strained from the onslaught.

Then as if Mother Nature had not indeed just released a torrent of hurricane-style winds, silence reigned for mere seconds. As the sun rose high and mighty behind the solitary peak, a bone chilling roar of death and despair tore through the heavens.

Harry took a sharp intake of breath.

Virescent eyes wide open in absolute, terror more so than when he faced Tom Riddle on that fateful night, Harry James Potter for the first time in his relatively short life. Felt true, unadulterated, all-consuming fear course through his veins.

The fear was not for his own safety.

No. It was for the poor souls ripe for the taking too the fancy of …a Dragon.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING~**


	5. Chapter 3 Wrath & Ruin

**Chapter 3 – Wrath & Ruin**

 ***Excerpts from 'Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince' by J.K. Rowling in this chapter. All credit goes to her. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

 ***Excerpts from 'The Hobbit by J.R. in this chapter. All credit goes to him. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

 _T.A._ _2770_ _Lonely Mountain_ _and the town of Dale_

The mountain stands imposing, majestically and proud; surrounded with thick pine trees, nature trails and carved-in Dwarven soldiers on either side of the mountain face. Axes-in hand in constant vigilance over the Lonely Mountain. The mountain itself was pristine and serene, silence hung thickly despite the awe-inspiring landscape. Tension hung thick in the air, clear to see in the subtle tense of the soldiers, the terse and tight grip of weapon handles, tight lipped frowns and troubled eyes.

Thorin Durin held the damming report in his hand, rereading the grave tidings in resignation before crumbling the offending parchment and disposing of it. Not only does his kingdom have to bedevil over the approaching Wyrm, but a legion of 4-6 thousand of opportunistic Gundabad Orcs were marching towards the mountain. Retreating into the mountain would be genocide for his people. A mindless slaughter of the innocent shall the Wyrm or Gundabad Orcs manage to break through their ranks.

Aware of the numerous eyes watching his every move, he kept his facial expression in a mask of indifference and cool calculation, it's one of the many reasons he solely commanded the might of Erebor's army. His steel blue eyes remained the picture of unwavering strength and confidence on oneself. Thorin knew the fear would require an outlet, for it was a naïve fools hope of having no respect to that particular emotion. Fear could kill just as easily as the sharp edge of a blade.

He let out an understated sigh, this was not the time or place to ponder such thoughts. Gripping the hilt of his broad Dwarfish Axe, he guided his heavily armored War Hog towards his amassed forces.

The army of Durin's Folk. What an awe-inspiring sight they made with their beautiful royal blue banners inlaid with silver-mithril embroidery, aligned methodically in a sea of a Dwarven tempest. The air held the vapor from the legions of Dwarves' befitted in heavily plated armor, silver sheens from finely sharpened axes , broad swords and skull-caving hammers completed the assemble well.

The cavalry guarded the flanks, led by his Father Thrain looking as menacing as ever with his dual axes glistening with deadly promise and thunderous expression. Each legion held their heads up high in pride, bearing the legendary stubbornness befitted to their race in all its glory.

The tempest of Dwarves parted in one fluid synchronized movement as King Thror made his way through the column until he reached the spearhead in a flutter of royal garb and flourish. His decorated armor stood out snobbishly and ostentatiously. In light to the others, the King stood out gloriously in hues of blue, silver and gold. The King's sole focus was on the golden ring his finger bore. Muttering, "I will not be parted from my gold. Not...one….single...coin…of. It."

Thorin upon seeing the glazed look in his Kings, Grandfather's eyes took it upon himself to rally the troops. Undertaking the burden of leading in his Grandfather's stead. Thrain would have been the next in line to take command, though he lacked the honest, loyalty Thorin inspired from the soldiers. With one single command from his lips, the legions of Dwarves' moved as one. As if they all possessed one single mind, one single entity and purpose. Right legs moved in unison and then the left. The clamor of shields, armor and weapons rang loud in the tense silence of the mountain.

Each step taken, was another closer to wrath and ruin. A warning for what's to come. Each face was grim with determination, every leather-clad hand clenched painfully around weapon handles.

Coming to a stop, Thorin turns facing his dwarrows.

"Lineage. Titles. Wealth. Have no meaning in this battlefield today. For we are all brothers in arms!" Thorin intoned, with an air of finality. He was met with zero resistance or rebuttals. "Today, we stand together as one. United for a common purpose. For a common enemy and dream. Our mighty creator, Mahal, bears witness to his creations grit on this day. We all will once again fight for the freedom and peace we have lived in these past years. We fight against this mighty foe….we fight against our extinction! We fight for our lives! Our children, brothers and sisters. Our wives, homes and kingdom. We fight to live!" He roared.

Distinctly, the dwarves heard a noise like a hurricane coming down from the North; the pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind. Fighting against the urge to cower with their hands over their ears from the screaming from on high, the dwarves firmly planted their feet upon hardy stone and gripped their weapons firm and steady.

A blood-chilling roar broke through the heavens. Even from a far, the beast's scales gleamed bright as an ever present flame. A deep intake of breath expands its chest where a whirlwind of malevolent flames swirled eager to destroy it all, pumping in rhythm with the beast's shriveled heart. Its eyes alight with sinister glee burned themselves into the minds of his victims below.

If the dwarves' had remained staring wide-eyed at the Dragon, they would have seen the delighted leer.

Thorin roared and gripped his battle axe above his dark mane, "Should we fall to blade or flame, this day shall not be known as our Fall, but as the day we as one stood together and vowed in blood, "WE WILL FIGHT, WE WILL NOT BOW TO THIS GREAT CALAMITY ON OUR KNEES AND PLEAD FOR OUR SHALL STAND AND LIVE ON!" Thorin turned his War-Hog and swinging his axe forward gave a mighty war cry. "IN FLESH OR MEMORY, WE FIGHT WITH OUR WILL OF FIRE! CHARGE!"

Flapping its powerful bat-like wings once again before turning to the side towards the legions below. It was complete utter chaos as once soft-skin turned into a sickly pasty hue. Soaring through the panicked armies, claws extended lacerating every available piece of flesh and bone laid before him. Striking crimson flowed like broken dams, bathing the earth in rich nutrients.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" filled the air.

Cackling, booming across the fields like thunder, the fire-drake consumed his flailing victims. Forked tongue peeking out of its maw, tasting the growing hopelessness and despair drenched in the air. Driven by toxic need and lust over precious gold and jewels, the gold-crazed fire-drake tore through the army of dwarves.

"Lok'tar!" (Victory!) came the cry from above the hill. It was a cry in the foul tongue of Orcish filth. Thorin and Thrain stopped for a moment, sparing a glance in the direction of the new foe's. With one last meaningful glance , the two warriors said their goodbyes before plunging into the fray again.

The bells were ringing in Dale and the warriors were arming... The river rushed up in steam and a fog fell on Dale, and in the fog the dragon came on them and destroyed most of the warriors—

Gundabad Orcs rushed at the already battle-weary, soot covered dwarves'. "Trk'hsk" ("Bloodshed in battle") they cried. The clashing of swords met Thorin's ears , the shouting for aid and the anguished cries of the dead pierced through his heart. His brothers in arms blood painted the battle ground , nerveless ashen faces stared beesechingly at the sunlight asking for safety. Half-melted hilts , helmeted heads and charred, charcoal like skin spotted the earth gruesomly.

'If this should be it for the Line of Durin, then so be it.' Hefting his bloodied battle axe for a long downward strike, Thorin bellowed 'COME AT ME!' before plunging against massive Gundabad Orcs, a Dwarven prince possessed with Mahal's righteous fury.

Swinging his axe broadly, Thorin leaves himself open for one of the Gundabad Orcs to take advantage of it. Thrashing the blade towards his exposed armpit, Thorin tries to dispatch the orc in front of him to block the blow. Just as the crude blade gets close enough to tear against the cloth an entire volley of arrows rain down on the unsuspecting Orcs.

Startled Thorin gazes in the direction the arrows sang from. On the ridge bordering the wilds of Erebor and Mirkwood, an elven army stood to attention. Leading the magnificent surrey of immortals was none other than the Elven King Thranduil astride a great Elkan beast.

Feeling hope swirling in his chest, Thorin swung his free arm bellowing, "HELP US! PLEASE! HELP US!" As a response to Thorin's desperate cry, The Wyrm reared on its hind legs before releasing a torrent of destructive flames to all surrounding areas. Claws stained with the life source of many a Dwarf and Man. Swiveling its crude head to the side, the dark yet beautiful forest which served as a home to many a creature; so filled with life and warmth, now served as a haunting memory. Especially for the Woodland Elves. Elven King Thranduil snarled under his breath wishing a painful death upon the spawn of shadow.

Wicked trees once used for shelter now hung scorched over as bracken charcoal, no more inviting as the decaying land bathed in fire. Thranduil seethed and motioned his mount forward in aid to the dwarves as much as for the protection of his own home. (Prepare the bows!) "Tangado i chui!"

(Fire the arrows!) "Hado i philinn!"

The Elvin King released arrow after arrow as he made his way to Prince Thorin, each arrow raining true. "Thank Mahal, for a second I thought….it does not matter. What matters is your presence here. King Thranduil."

The Great Wyrm took flight again relishing in the blood bath he caused. Glancing downward, the great Wyrm released his malevolent flames against the mosaic, baby saplings and took great thrill at the screeching laments of the trees.

The air was humid and filled with the stench of death.

"Well said Prince Thorin. I fear we may win against the Orcish filth but the Wyrm….is another matter altogether." Thranduil releases an arrow, imbedding it in the eye socket of an Orc creeping behind the unsuspecting Prince. "Your women and children are safe and sound within my halls. It was wise to send them there. There is little chance of us surviving this plight."

Grunting in acknowledgement Thorin beheads an orc before responding, "Aye. We shall inflict as much damage as we can. We must not let that Wyrm go after our surviving people." His axe embedded itself in the skull of an orc, a dark spurt of blood sprayed the Prince's handsome features. Thranduil dismounted his stead and sent it away towards relative safety. Unsheathing his glowing blade and severing several deformed heads in one swift stroke.

"We can only hope for it to be so." Thranduil responded before swinging his blade rapidly and severing many an enemy limb.

The Wyrm flew ahead, spreading despair and chaos in the armies below. The battlefield was unrecognizable, everything and everyone living or dead was slowly surrounded and scorched in a hail of dragon fire. The pain was unbearable for the valiant warriors, their armor molten upon their fair and tough skin, trapping their bodies in silver-charcoal personalized caskets. The Wyrm seemed not to have a preference on who to tear into or burn alive. Thranduil and Thorin both sought a form of solace knowing they bid farewell to their loved ones and fought with everything they had. Focusing their gazes in the legion of Orcs and Wyrm ahead, King and Prince threw themselves into the screeching hoard shifting constantly in a deadly dance of blade and axe alike

Dwarf, Elf, Man and Orc alike where strewn about. With every passing moment the number of friendlies dead increased staggeringly fast.

The Wyrm circled around seeming to enjoy dragging out the terror of the Free Peoples armies down below, delighted in its conquest of the treasure hoard deep in The Lonely Mountain. The gates still stood imposing and strong against the Gundabad Orcs, compared to the might and destruction the Great Wyrm displayed, it looked nothing more than a glamorous metal sheet ready to be smoldered at a moment's notice.

As far as the eye could see, Thranduil was faced with the cold and lifeless gazes of half-charred corpses. Hearts that used to beat in a breath taking harmony now rest forever silent. Beautiful minds that held precious, fleeting memories and expressions filled with raw emotion lay bare.

Limbs are spread haphazardly in awkward angles, headless and half-crushed heads snapped grotesquely to the side. The corpses of long-time friends and comrades…living beings graced with life by Eru, nothing more than broken shells rotting for the Shadow to see. Foul blood spread across Thranduil's face as he twirls his blade in a circular motion cutting down all in his path. Pouring his fury, angst and sorrow in every swing. Decimating the enemies he can fight head-on without feeling completely incompetent in the face of all the dead.

 _'_ _If we all die, we can only pray our bodies return to our creator before being defiled by the Shadow. Let our flesh nourish the scarred earth we tread upon. Let our bones shine in the brilliance and beauty of starlight.'_ Thranduil prayed, cleaving the leg of a malnourished, one-eyed Orc.

Out of the corner of his eye, Thranduil watches as an Orc cleaves his two-handed crude axe behind King Thror's silvery head. Crimson leaks in rivers down his shocked face, pieces of flesh, brain matter and bone slowly drip downwards and the mighty King Under The Mountain falls…

An anguished cry from his heir, Thrain, fills the air as he savagely swings his dual axes cleaving them deeply into the Orc's back. Splintering the poor armor in half and causing a large spray of dark blood to erupt against him.

Thrain approaches his father, a soiled-gloved hand falling softly on his heavily jeweled bearded face. With his free hand, he places it above the dirtied chest piece of his armor, hoping against all odds for any sign his Father still resides in the land of the living. A proud dwarf as Thrain, releases silver rivers of salty tears over the corpse. Splashing against the rapidly cooling skin on Thror, Thrain leans down placing a soft kiss on his soiled forehead, leaving tears raining down onto his opened steel-blue eyes. Heaving great sobs, Thrain closes Thror's eyes with shaking fingers. Fuming with rage, Thrain releases a mighty-war cry fighting with abandon leaving a trail of Orcish bodies in his wake. Seepage slowly drains from the felled Orcs, massive gaping holes pour out intestines as Thrain cleaves anything in his path. So great was Thrain's abandon he failed to notice the Wyrm circling the battle field from behind….the despairing, vibrant glow potent upon his chest.

Without a second thought as to his actions, Thranduil launches himself towards Thrain yelling at the top of his lungs, "BEHIND YOU! BEHIND YOU THRAIN! MOVE OUT OF THE WAY!" All who were near that heard the Elven King's cry, were frozen in abject terror as a massive column of Dragon fire poured out of the Wyrm and scorched the earth leading a path of agony and destruction towards a seething , unrelenting Thrain and a frantic Thranduil.

At the last possible moment, to the relief of many a dwarf and great grief for many an elf, Thranduil shoved Thrain to the side with a force so great the dwarf was sent flying meters ahead before slamming against the doors of Erebor.

The Elven King was left in the direct pathway of an inferno.

 _'_ _Forgive me ion'_

"THRANDUIL!"

"MY KING!"

"ADAR!"

In a beautiful, terrifying moment his world became consumed by dragon fire. Flames poured and leapt onto his flesh, reaching, devouring, and scorching everything in its path. Consuming the purity of Eru's children, to fuel its everlasting wrath.

The pain.

Eru the pain is unbearable! The scorching flames devouring his skin. Searing through his arms and legs, branding itself across his face and torso. No coherent thought, no physical action could save him from his torment. Mind reeling in unspeakable agony and horror…

And he knew there was no possible way for him to survive through this torture.

The Battle of Dagorland and the Serpent he faced there where nothing compared to his AGONY in this moment.

Without his consent wild, agonized, guttural yowls of pain broke through the cracked, dried, scorched skin of his throat and into the ash-filled air above him. Something akin to savage tongue passed through his lips. Screeching to the unfairness of it all. To the agony coursing through his body and soul. All the while white-hot pain etches itself into memory.

Everyone watched in transfixed horror. None more so than the elves, especially a young ellon with striking resemblance to the Elven King. "ADARRRRRRR!" the young ellon shrieked.

Flames. Flames encroaching and surrounding them all.

There's no way out.

They can't get out.

The flames grew painfully hot and obscured their vision of all around them. Refusing to be controlled, the flames wage an incinerated war against all that still lives and breathes.

The remaining warriors felt their blood run cold. Not one warrior survived dragon fire once consumed. And here was an Elven King who survived being burnt alive not once, but twice.

The question was…will he survive his grievous injuries? If so, what could be done for his poor soul?

Thranduil's raw screams pierced the hearts of all, sending primal fear and adrenaline racing through their veins. Thorin and the young ellon raced towards the fallen king receiving burns of their own. With every scream penetrating the air, the faster Thorin and the ellon pushed themselves. Once at his side Thorin began removing the affected clothing from a half-crazed Thranduil. The young-ellon began cutting around the melted metal and clothing removing as much as he could and leaving the cooled portions intact.

The Wyrm's fire only knew wrath and fury, the fires of Morgoth's greatest creation, sparked capturing and lapping apart sending hungry flames to the cornered elven vanguard. The fire encroached on the limited land separating the valiant elves from the vengeful flames. The fire roared and swiveled until the very flames themselves had a life of their own, darting forward, rampaging with all the hate and lust it was capable off. Thick, ominous onyx smoke ascended, obscuring the last rays of the sun drenching all in utter darkness.

"This is the end…" a forlorn human man whispered.

-LINE-BREAK-

Harry felt suffocated. His robes and hair, slick with his perspiration clinging unbearably to his skin. Thin branches coated in fine, silver spider webs and thorns slashed across his face. The very atmosphere was roasting with the intensity of the flames a few miles ahead. He began bouncing slightly as he ran, ears bleeding with the yowls of agony from the unfortunate souls wreathed in Dragon Fire. Worst of all, were the screams of pure, unimaginable pain. A painful stabbing throb filled his very being. 'Faster' he commanded himself.

Breathing deeply, Harry was able to taste the awful, acrid taste of burnt flesh. Well-aware of how living flesh burns all iron-rich blood letting out a coppery, metallic smell. What made it all the more worse was the fact he knew the internal organs rarely burnt completely, though the air itself smelled like burnt liver. Swallowing a bout of nausea Harry endeavored to breathe through his nose. Cerebrospinal fluid smelled musky, sweet like perfume.

Gagging Harry barreled through a set of thick lifeless branches, rolled and continued to run. He was getting within limit to apparate safely.

Charcoal, sulfuric breezes passed through the thick woods.

The smell of putrid and sticky flesh tanned over a flame, thick and rich smothered his nostrils. A horrifying roar filled the air, immediately followed by desperate screams.

"The putrid scent is more dominant here…." He continued to run before immediately recalling Twycross' lessons.

 _'_ _Focus,' said Twycross, 'focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!'_

Harry glanced ahead with a simple minded focus.

 _'…_ _and only when I give the command ... turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation! On my command, now ... one –'_

Harry fixed his thoughts on the foreign magical pull again. Half-aware of Twycross's teachings in the back of his mind.

 _'_ _Splinching, or the separation of random body parts, 'occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continually upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation ...'_

Harry spun on the spot with his arms outstretched, a tenacious scowl upon his brow and a swirl of his tarnished robes.

It was an infusion of familiar and foreign magical essence. The world swirled in bold color, sound and smell. It was a kaleidoscope intermingled with chaos. Before he arrived, the speed of sound caused all in the world to go instantly silent. Reverberating over the desolation as efficiently as a freak lightning storm of scarlet and gold. An immense orb of pure energy shot up into the field of corpses aflame half-a-mile across in either direction with a blinding scintillate.

The nearby fires congregated around the electrical-tiered orb of multi-colored sheens slowly swirling in spherical rings twisting, writhing, changing into a humanoid shape one moment and billowing outwards in crackling- lightning hemispheres waves the next.

A concretion of macabre sensations creeped all-over Harry: the lash-out of the over-powered apparition , the howls of the dying , the rushing of congregated peoples , the lack of breathable air , the abhorrent scene of the loss of life.

But none more so than the sight of a crisp and still-breathing being covered in melted silver and fatal third-degree burns; flanked in both sides by a short bearded, handsome man and youth a few years older than himself.

In front of them though…stood a truly terribly beautiful creature in vermillion scales, slotted amber, malicious eyes and teeth like razors. What drew Harry's complete attention was the sinister, magical essence floating around the Dragon like a second skin, he reached out with his magic to examine this foreign-yet-familiar species of reptile.

The moment Harry's magic faintly touched the dark essence, a piercing howl of agony ruptured from the Dragon before it charged head first in his direction.

Gaining speed with each thrust of its massive bat-like wings.

Vicious snarls rebounded of the devastated clearing, the dragon opened its elongated maw where a faint glow began to grow increasingly fast before the beginnings of flames traveled outward….right at Harry.

In a flash of light, Harry raised the Elder Wand and bellowed "PROTEGO TOTALLUM!"

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING~**


	6. Chapter 4 In Desolation Rises Eruchil

**Chapter 4: In Desolation Rises Eruchil**

 ***Excerpts from '** **Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets,** **Harry Potter and** **The Goblet of Fire"** **by J.K. Rowling in this chapter. All credit goes to her. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

KABOOOOOMMMM! The shock wave traveled through the oppressive air faster than the speed of sound, similar to the crackling of lightning and thunder, the burst of two opposing forces was enough to shatter many an ear drum.

Staggering quantities of malevolent flames congregated on the lone, vibrant figure abrasive enough to stand before the Mighty Wyrm. The bulk of pressure surrounding his shield was immense. A steady stream of Dragon Fire continuously thrashed on the sphere keeping Harry safely away from the hungry tongues of flame.

Meanwhile, the Wyrm charges forward, violently stomping on half-alive Fallen Natives into vile jelly. At first, the Natives are petrified on the spot, unable to comprehend the dramatic change of events unfolding before them. The Wyrm quickly closes the distance between itself and Harry, the ground shakes from the tremendous vibrations in the wake of a Dragon. Then as if hit by a _Confundus Charm,_ the Natives rallied admirably into action. Yowls of pain and grunts of force reached Harry's ears before the Dragon raised a webbed-claw and clashed painfully against his weakening shield.

Unhealthily mesmerized, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the monstrous golden-eyes with vertical slit pupils of the scarlet dragon, bulging with either unease or vexation, he couldn't tell which ... it was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream. A sizzling sound could be heard from the impact sight, the black essence retreated rapidly leaving a white-hot imprint on his shield.

There was a terrible rumble before the Dragon began pounding the top uttermost portion of his shield. Cracks appeared from the top as well as the surrounding earth, with each hammering pound, the deeper the sphere dug itself from the force behind each hit.

Roaring in displeasure, the dragon opened its maw and tried biting the outer shell of the shield. Harry received a once in a lifetime experience from the offending Wyrm, especially considering the never before seen or studied sensory organs of a live Dragon. A pair of openings were in front of the choana, _much like a snake in that regard_ , an open slit like structure on the uppermost portion of the Dragon's mouth. A massive, forked, foreign-flesh coated tongue flicked and salivated its way in circular motions as the Dragon continued its slow-moving task of biting through the sphere. Globs of tainted saliva and corrupted black essence curled seductively around Harry. Repulsed Harry turned his attention to the miniscule essence particles in the air around him, as they sizzled and combusted when in contact to his overflowing magic.

Like a dog with a bone, the Dragon used its grasping rows of fangs in its upper and lower jawbone to make puncture holes on Harry's shield. Panic slowly began to grow in his veins as the Dragon's recurved fangs began leading the magical sphere inwards, deeper into the Dragon's mouth and the beginnings of its uvula into the cavernous entrance of its throat.

For a moment Harry's skin glowed more ethereal than it was in his awakening hours prior before dimming minutely, engulfing air into his lungs he lifted the Elder Wand and took aim. 'Stupefy!' he shouted, and the Stunning Spell shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons' salivating flesh. With an extraordinary show of strength behind the normally moderate-powered spell, the Dragon flew backwards freeing Harry from its grasp.

"ROOOOAAAARRR!"

Harry immediately covered his ears from the sharp, piercing pain penetrating his eardrums. Harry watched the dragon teeter dangerously on its back legs, its jaw stretched wide in a suddenly silent howl, its nostrils were suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking then, very slowly, and it fell several tons of sinewy, scaly scarlet dragon hit the ground with a bang that caused the surrounding charred earth to ripple dangerously like turbulent waves in the open sea.

He lowered his wand and walked forwards to the fallen Dragon. He gazed at the dragon with suspicion and apprehension. Its eyes were still just open. Harry could see a strip of gleaming molten bronze-gold beneath its wrinkled scarlet eyelid. His gaze moved towards the Dragon's tail, and Harry saw long, bloodied bronze-colored spikes protruding along it every few inches.

"HE DID IT! HE DIT IT! THE WYRM HAS FALLEN!" A weary and wounded soot covered man cried out. Harry momentarily allowed his eyes to wander in his direction….a fatal mistake for anyone in his current situation. In a blink of an eye, the spiked tail swung at Harry with the intent to completely obliterate his appendage. "ERUCHIL!" unfamiliar voices screeched in panic. With inhuman like reflexes he pulled his head backwards, thick cords of muscle in his neck protruding painfully beneath his stretched skin, his Adam's apple bobbing significantly as Harry stumbled backwards. Elder Wand grasped tightly in hand, Harry went rigid as fear cursed through his veins. The dragon twisted and convulsed maniacally as it shook off the stunner, the earth cracked and trembled with the force of the beast. Its tail swung with a mind of its own, tendrils of black essence focused completely on the tip of the spiked tail as it continuously aimed at Harry's torso and legs seeking to incapacitate him.

His breath came in spurts, not enough oxygen was making its way to his lungs. He continuously dogged and rolled trying to place some distance between himself and the beast. Slight tremors racked his body.

'This was nothing compared to the Hungarian' he absently thought.

With his heart constricting in his chest, he ran in the opposite direction. Distinctly aware of the clustered groups of retreating Natives making their way to relative safety. He ran in zig-zags as the Dragon rolled over into its side and shook of its massive head ridding itself from the after effects of the stunner. Fighting Tom was mere child's play in comparison.

Every step took him further from certain death.

Every step took his limited breath away.

Every step made his blood sing in ecstasy.

He never felt more ALIVE.

His limbs moved on their own, muscle memory was a strange thing, he needn't tell them were to go or how to move. Harry was disconnected to everything around him but the Dragon following hot on his tail towards the majestic, imposing mountain up ahead.

"ACCIO AXE!" He yelled, before about-facing and hurling the chipped weapon at the Dragon's exposed eye. His aim proving true as it embedded itself deeply within the slanted pupil, bronze-golden goo spurred outward. The Dragon recoiled roaring to the heavens in rage. He turned forward once again, sweat pouring down his head and into his eyes. Behind him he heard the clamoring of the Dragon as it hunted him, snapping its jaws and spurting columns of flames. The stifling heat from the column reached Harry before the actual flames could do any harm, He swiveled partially around before bellowing, "IMPEDIMENTA!" slowing the flames enough to alter their intended destination for a patch of crumbled ruins instead. Harry heard the thundering baying from the Dragon. Harry's hair matted itself on his forehead, the ends of his bangs encroaching on his eyesight.

"ERUCHIL!" the voices screeched again. Confused and disbelievingly angry, Harry watched as soot covered Natives ran in his direction swaying weapons and yelling war-cries. "Bloody Hell! Can't you tell when someone is trying to save you sods!?"

Before Harry could do as much as …..Well anything, really.

A sharp pain ripped through his left side, warm blood poured from his arm-wide gash. His attention was momentarily taken when the incisor-tip of the Dragon's tail pushed him off the ground and into the air. Harry was no stranger to heights but even he could not help the startled yell that ripped through him.

In a pace that could only be broken by a modified Nimbus 2000, he flew alarmingly fast through the sky barely able to breathe due to the intensity in which he spiraled-parted through the constricting smoke and clouds.

"IIIIIIICCCCCCKKKKKK!" Harry yelled before surrounding his body with magical essence thick enough to mimic Tom's 'Flight' spell. In a swirl of golden-vermillion smoke Harry free-fell. The view was morbidly breath-taking.

Thick clouds of smoke cascaded the battle-ravaged clearing as a tranquil veil of night. Thousands of humanoid piers littered the ground, burning brightly like miniature suns. Each sun surrounded with silver-steel splattered with crimson-black dustings.

With a great gust of wind, the false serenity of night shattered. In its wake the Dragon flapped its monstrous bat-like wings, heavy claps of thunder resonated around the sky. A column of black essence covered the burst of flame the Dragon released. The atmosphere became clotted and dense with malignancy. Shifting his limbs in a minuscule manner, Harry free fell towards the Dragon, Elder Wand jabbed forward bursting with scarlet, over-powered sparks of energy. It released pulses in regular intervals, the strongest pulses were derived from the higher-level spells he would use. Although, the results from such spells never deviated in intensity or destructive power as they did now _. 'What could be the cause of this? Did the same accidental explosion of magical essence that brought Hogwarts and myself here change more than the superficial aspect of things? Is it more focus-oriented?'_ Leaving the troubling thoughts aside, Harry focused the resounding ambient and familiar essences of magic in his wand. Feeling a throbbing pulse spread through his palm, upward his forearm, all the way up to his torso. He momentarily hesitated on which curse to use, foregoing the killing curse, he settled on maiming the magical beast. He reasoned it was due to the fondness Hagrid showed for the fire-breathers, for his hesitance to strike it down after all the death and destruction it drought. But then, there was a small voice in the back of his head that uttered _, 'And what if it made you the identical copy of Tom?'_

"AGUAMENTI!" a burst of water, more like a continuous river, erupted from the tip of his wand. Dousing the Dragon's column of flames immediately, leaving behind a thin slim of vapor and smoke. Wanting to end this confrontation as soon as possible, Harry gathers more essence for the plan he has in mind.

"LUMOS MAXIMA!" a column as sharp and deadly as a blade forged by sunlight, illuminated the short distance between the Dragon and Harry. Effectively blinding the beast and granting him precious moments to completely immobilize the beast with minimum harm to himself. "RRRAAAAWWWRRR" it roared, shaking its spiked head furiously, momentarily flapping in place.

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" The Dragon's body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the stifling air, like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak. There was silence. The dragon continued to fall, imprisoned within his own paralyzed body, staring at Harry with unadulterated hatred and fury.

"SECTRUMSEPRA!" He bellowed, slicing deeply into the Dragon's exposed underbelly and limbs. Slashing his wand in an upward slice, Harry effectively cleaved off a size-able portion of scales from its snouted face, leaving behind a grisly scar various shades lighter than the rest of its body.

From up so high, gravity took its toll and plummeted both masses to the hellish earth down below. Around them, blood droplets painted the obsidian sky with rubies, shinning beatifically for all around to see. The winds howled angrily, jealously gripping for their attention as the ground grew ever closer.

Harry drew the essence around himself and rolled to minimize the impact of the rough landing. Unfortunately for the Dragon, his body crashed violently against the earth creating a massive crater three-times the size of its body. Blood rapidly pooled in the crevices and bowels of the earth. Thinking the fight between two over-whelming powerful forces to be over a contingent of battered soldiers slowly made their way out of their broken down refuge.

A vicious roar split the sky, immediately the soldiers reached for their weapons but stood on trembling legs as the bloodied Dragon released gusts of flames as it slowly clawed its way out of the crater, leaving behind a trail of steaming blood.

A brave soldier released an arrow only for it to fall harmlessly against the tough exterior of the Dragon. The dragon growled in annoyance before releasing a torrent of flame towards the soldiers who immediately dodged out of the way with exclamations of pure terror. "FALL BACK YOU FOOLS! TIS A FIGHT WE CANNOT CONTRIBUTE IN!" yelled a stocky, short man. The same one that held the animalistically, yowling, charred man from before. "LEAVE THE WYRM TO ERUCHIL! LIVE TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY! WE ARE VASTLY OUTCLASSED IN THIS CLASH OF POWERS!" Slowly, the soldiers stumbled there way from the battleground. Casting, lingering glances and hand gestures in Harry's direction but he only had eyes for the Dragon as it stood directly in front of the gates build within the mountain. As a result from the fall and the constant heat, the metal gates became warped and hung in melted hinges wide open for the world to see the cavernous darkness lying within.

Both Dragon and Wizard stood there in an impasse. Staring each other down, rivals and monsters in their own right. One scaled and tainted by black essence, the other jaded by war and cruelty hanging precariously between the curse of Life and Death. The smoke hung thickly in the air, the smell acrid as flesh continued to burn and turn to ash. Crashes of ruble fell of the wooden and stone structures from the nearby lake and devastated city.

Slowly, an ember began glowing within the Dragon's severed chest cavity and underbelly. Gaining brilliance every moment before long, it shone ominously in shades of scarlet and melted bronze. Nostrils flared, released long, puffs of grey smoke, malicious eyes glinting murderously, lips pulled back into a vicious sneer.

One breath.

Two heartbeats.

The Dragon opened its maw wide open releasing its most powerful column of tainted flames ever released from any of its own kind. Harry unleashed the gathered essence he had stored while free falling.

Three incantations that changed the course of predestined events for everyone.

 _'_ _Aguamenti – Aguamenti – AGUAMENTI!'_

Harry Potter released a monstrous and utterly destructive blast, composed of deafening shock waves. Waves upon waves burst from the Elder Wand in alarming amounts reducing everything in its path into nothing but soaked ash. A tsunami controlled by the will of Harry Potter, crashed against the shell-shocked Dragon. Vapor immediately rose from first contact with the Dragon. Roars of anguish erupted from the beast as it was swept away into the depths of the mountain. Flapping wings beat furiously against the current only to become heavy burdens and useless to the beasts frantic movements. The Dragon's lust for gold and drive for terror turned into a nightmare of his making, the once glorious halls of the mountain flooded rapidly as the tsunami plundered it's depths. Grasping blindly and gaining a handhold, the Dragon held steadfast, slithering in place, similar to a serpent, thrashing wildly.

Breathing labored by the excessive release of magical energy, Harry looked the Dragon squarely in the eye before uttering the final blow.

"REDUCTO!" The curse slammed headlong on the Dragon's pike head before breaking off in every direction in a blinding spiral of scarlet-gold light, the mountain crumbled enclosing the terrified Wyrm and wizard-made tsunami behind its emerald-grey walls. Deep vibrations could be felt from the soles of his feet, gnarled roars and crumbling stone columns echoed faintly across the desolated clearing.

Harry breathed deeply, slowing his racing heart and glancing around the area. Taking in the devastation for anything to salvage or any survivors left behind, thought to be dead. Cries of pain and the shuffle of metal reached his ears. Turning his head slightly in the direction of the sounds, Harry noticed a trail of foot imprints on the soaked earth. Feeling the strange 'pull' again, Harry found himself confused and followed in the direction the imprints lead to. 'If it wasn't the dragon's tainted essence that called to me, then it has to be someone or something within the surrounding environment?' He pondered, holding his lacerated left side.

He followed quietly behind. Keeping a lookout for anything he perceived to be a threat, Elder Wand grasped tightly in hand. The land became rockier, charred trees and unrecognizable bodies littered the path. The incline grew more burdensome the farther he went, the deeper he ventured into the charred woods. Trails of blood and half-melted pieces of equipment were left behind.

Harry knelt down and reached for a pair of emptied vials from the forest floor. Inspecting the contents for anything he recognized and might be able to use in the future. Scenting the tops of it, Harry placed the emptied vials in one of his less tattered robe pockets and continued forward.

Growing closer to the sounds of the tortured and dying.

 _*Eruchil_ _–_ _heir of Eru_

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING**


	7. Chapter 5 Waylaid Mitigation Pt I

**Chapter 5: Waylaid Mitigation**

 **Part I**

 ***Excerpts from '** **Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban** **"** **by J.K. Rowling in this chapter. All credit goes to her. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

Pained cries pierced the oppressive air in the nearby woods. Not wanting to reveal himself yet, Harry opted to venture in the adjacent direction to the throng of Natives. Observing the interactions, strange dialect and methods of healing they utilized for the suffering. He approached what appeared to be a natural opening for a tunnel.

The grim bloodstained boulder's opened wide enough to admit a fairly thin person. Harry glanced quickly to the left and his right, then tucked the Elder-Wand away again, hoisted himself into the gaping whole headfirst, and pushed himself forwards.

He slid a considerable way down what felt like a stone slide, then landed on cold, damp earth. He stood up, looking around. It was pitch dark. He held up his wand, muttered, 'Lumos!' and saw that he was in a very narrow, low, earthy passageway. Heart beating fast, both excited and apprehensive, he set off.

-LINE BREAK-

Thorin took stock of everything around him. Stoically impassive with a determined aura about his person, no Man, Dwarrow or Elf could tell of his amounting apprehension. He resolutely hid his all-consuming sorrow for the loss of life and stolen homeland, tucking it away and burying it in the back of his mind. He has buried it so deeply within, it is almost as if it was never there.

A presence settles by his side, remaining silent and observant to the chaos unfolding before them. There's a tension in the air, thick enough to impede one's lungs from getting any polluted air into them. Thorin looks at the faces of his inner circle, notes their tight jaws and how similar their shoulders and arms are tightly wound. Complete mirror-images to himself and the Veterans amongst them.

Elder's from the race of men trudged along, shoulders dropping lower and lower the longer they walked. Thorin turned his head in the direction of the Lonely Mountain, gazing homebound at the majesty of his homeland, knowing deep down in his heart he would return to reclaim it from the Wyrm. Granted, after the earsplitting roars echoing across the land and the appearance of Eruchil, he holds out hope for the impossible.

 _'_ _Perhaps Eruchil was able to maim or encase the Wyrm'_ he idly wondered before turning back and treading deeper into the sickly looking woods, towards the Elven King's Halls.

"Girion" Thorin acknowledged the soot covered man. A bloodied bandage covered the majority of his chest, fresh blood was oozing downwards coating everything in its path. Sweat rolled down his face, plastering his dirtied raven locks to his forehead.

 _'_ _He's deteriorating faster the harder he pushes himself'_ he notes, withholding a weary sigh from escaping.

Thorin watches as the strength slowly seeps out of the courageous man before him. With one foot moving in front of the other, labored breath's and pallid expression. "Lord Thorin" a raspy, breathless voice acknowledged. "You will not live long to see the morrow's sunrise if you continue pushing your limits, _Meri_." Girion snorted in response and settled himself on a nearby log. The battered warrior looked skyward heaving in great, deep breaths before settling muddled eyes on Thorin. A barely-present gleam of confidence and belief resided in his dark eyes.

"Should I not voice such concerns with your own wellbeing as well, Rin?" he countered.

Ignoring the childhood alias Young-Girion bestowed to him Thorin asked, "How do the Men fare?"

"Platoons, Companies, Battalions, Brigades have all been decimated. We lost the majority of our army when the Wyrm used the mist to its advantage and sent hellfire to the assembled army. The Archer Corps, consisting of 15,000 strong men, along with a handful of Master Swordsmen is all we have left." He finished his report tonelessly. "The number of dead is beyond grief…"

"Aye it is. There are still those who yet reside in the land of the living, let us focus our dwindling resources and energies to save those who we can." Thorin reasoned, while bending down and slumping a wounded Man's arm over his broad shoulders. Taking on the brunt of the Man's weight causing him to release a thankful grunt, Thorin held strong granting him some balance and time to catch his breath. He turned his head back to Girion. "Come _Meri_. For the dead do not linger. Our brothers-in-arms require our aid." With those parting words Thorin lead his charge forward, towards the makeshift Healer's post beneath a small covering of foliage and sheltered crop between moderate sized oaken trunks.

The Healers from all three races worked tirelessly to the bone. Tortured cries and moans plagued their ears as the wounded and dying helplessly plead for mercy. Ash clung to their skin, wore them down as a grisly merciless sheen of despair. Sweat-coated faces, gaunt with exhaustion and terror wrapped severed limbs, whispered words of encouragement and hope. Though the words themselves sounded false to their own ears.

Thorin lead his charge to an empty spot on the ground, immediately an apprentice healer came and began checking the numerous wounds on the man. Thorin helped where he could, grabbing extra bandages, holding the wounded down as flesh was mended together, when limb was sacrificed for life. It was a cacophony screams and curses to his bleeding ears. He continued his self-imposed task until he began bandaging a close friend and confidant of his.

A most treasured companion.

The haunted dwarrow before him had a fringe of burnt brown-grey hair around his head, a massive singed-on-the-edges parted beard on an equally wizened, tear stained countenance. Bulky shoulders slumped in defeat, a large gash from shoulder to his lower abdomen covered in blood stained bandages. Eyes half-lidded and dead for all intents and purposes. No pained cries escaped firm, colorless lips as his wounds were cleansed and sutured. He held the air of one who has stopped living yet was cursed with a living body.

Living a life where nothing is given but taken away.

Thorin schooled his features, held down the rising bile in his throat as he closely examined his beloved friend. The dead look in his eyes will haunt him for the rest of his life. It didn't match the spitfire those lively eyes once held, the bold personality of his strong-willed companion. "Dwalin" he soothingly whispered.

Dwalin's wizened face scrunched in repressed anger and sorrow. He rubbed his bandaged hands over his tired face breathing deeply before releasing a shuddering breath. "My Lord" his voice wavered. "It is my fault for the position we find ourselves in. If I had been FASTER, BETTER, DONE ANYTHING I COULD HAVE SAVED OUR KING!" Dwalin agitatedly roared, swinging his bloodied arms through the air. Thorin leaned away from his companion before moving to calm his wounded friend. "IF I HAD BEEN BY HIS SIDE SOONER LORD THRAIN WOULD NOT HAVE ALMOST DIED! KING THRANDUIL WOULD NOT HAVE….HE WOULD NOT HAVE TO…." Dwalin couldn't find it in himself to finish, instead he bowed his head and clenched his fists. Body trembling in rage and pain. Thorin reached out, clasped his hand on his suffering friends shoulder in comfort. Comfort for who he couldn't decide.

"Nothing is for certain in times of War, Dwalin. We can plan for everything, make counter plans upon counter plans and nothing could have prepared us for this." His grip tightened on Dwalin's shoulder. "It was bloody, chaotic, and impossible to think farther ahead than a handful of minutes. What happened to our King is no one's fault. Not mine. Not yours. Not the Guard's. It was something we couldn't have prevented or planned for. Our King is dead…" Thorin's voice broke away as his chest constricted threatening to capsize on his heart and lungs. Burning stings sprouted from behind his cobalt eyes. Thorin placed his free hand around Dwalin's cheek, bringing his head up and meeting his shinning eyes mirror pools of tears. "We can't blame ourselves or others for unpredictable events. We can only move forward and try to rebuild as best we can." Thorin leaned and pressed his forehead against Dwalin's in a show of solidarity and comfort. "What King Thranduil did was courageous and his decision alone. You and I couldn't have stopped him even if we tried. Stubborn that one. Stubborn like a Dwarf. " The ghost of a smile appeared on both their faces.

Dwalin shook his head slowly before glancing around searching for the Elven King before spotting his supine form surrounded by frantic Elves and whispered healing chants.

"Out of all the allies we've had over the years, I would have suspected Lord Dain from the Iron hills to respond to our call of aid. Seeing as we are his Kin." Dwalin coolly reflected before glancing at his Lord from the corner of his eyes. "Our Kin left us to our own devices whereas an Elven King with nothing to benefit from helping us, welcomed and granted our people refuge, led his people in honor of our alliance. Has saved the Royal Line of Durin by sacrificing his own flesh and blood." Dwalin gripped his Lord's hand and steely vowed, "King Thranduil will receive all the aid he can. We have already lost our King and homeland, let us not lose our _Khazdazmeri."_

Thorin returned the fierce grip on his hand. "Aye. Help me gather some men to gather wild herbs and plants to aid the wounded. Specify the need for burn remedies." Thorin rose and held his hand out for his friend.

"The road to recovery will not be an easy one." Dwalin rose and held his wounded side before responding.

"He will not be alone. The Sons of Durin will be by his side through it all."

-LINE BREAK-

The passage twisted and turned, more like the burrow of a giant rabbit than anything else. Harry hurried along it, stumbling now and then on the uneven floor, holding his wand out in front of him.

It took ages, but Harry had the compulsion of the 'pull' to sustain him. After what felt like an hour, the passage began to rise. Panting, Harry sped up, his face hot, his feet very cold.

Ten minutes later, he came to the foot of some worn stone steps which curved out of sight before him. Careful not to make any noise, Harry began to creep forward. A hundred steps, two hundred steps, he lost count as he walked, watching his feet ... then, without warning, his head hit something hard.

-LINE BREAK-

Thorin , Dwalin, Oin and his brother Gloin ; formed a small search party for wild burn remedies in hopes of providing a miniscule amount of relief for King Thranduil. Thorin had somehow managed to acquire an experienced Healer to his cause, Oin, whom was currently running through a list of common plants he could use to make a poultice to treat severe burn wounds. Thorin and Dwalin were told to search for an antiseptic to use as a dressing, specifically for sphagnum moss which is found in boggy areas. Oin and Gloin decided to search for sugar cane or a honey maple trunk. Reasoning being sugar and honey are especially effective for promoting new skin growth and stopping infection.

The group searched for a few more minutes before a small 'THUD' caught there attention.

Thorin turned his head in the direction of the sound, feeling as if his breath was firmly caged within his broad chest and the beginning tendrils of fear creeped into his heart. If there were to be ambushed by a party of Gundabad Orcs at the moment…King Thranduil and many others will surely die. Breathing as shallow as he could force himself to, in order to release the bought of tension, Thorin brought his hands to his lips and swung palm-facing-downward, to his sides motioning for silence. Inglsihmek provided a secure way to communicate when in enemy territory without fear of being overheard and giving their position away. Receiving nods in turn, Thorin then brings his hands to his abdomen, fisting his hands and leaves his thumbs facing upward. Before he brings his fisted left hand forward closely followed by his right. Gesturing forward and back once. The command was clear. 'FOLLOW ME'.

Hidden in the shadows, the group crouches while searching the woodland floor for any Orc tracks. Instead of broad, deep indentations they find slim yet peculiar tracks. A warm, liquid gold light catches Thorin's attention from the corner of his eye. Taking shallow breath's he moves in the lights direction, feeling a strange wave of calm and tranquility course through his veins. A strange sensation considering the situation he found himself in. Taking cover behind a hollow trunk, Thorin slowly edges around the trunk half-hidden in shadow to study the figure before him. Leaning against a trunk studiously observing its surroundings, the slim yet muscular male leans forward encasing his face in the limited amount of light in the area.

Clasping his hand over his mouth to stifle his surprise and excitement, Thorin motioned for his group to sheathe their weapons. Mouthing 'Eruchil' to those around him, who in turn, widened their eyes in shock. A glimmer of hope growing deep within their chests.

The group focused on Eruchil, their curiosity and excitement amounting to a wolf's fixation on its prey.

-LINE BREAK-

It seemed to be a gnarled, twisted oaken branch. Harry stood there, massaging the top of his head, listening. He couldn't hear any sounds around him. Very slowly, he peered over the edge.

-LINE BREAK-

Harry watched as short-statured men stumbled over there feet as they rushed about gathering wood, water and medicinal plants. Men with light leather armor carried the wounded to the Healer's station. What drew his attention was the gathered group of Elite soldiers with silver, engraved armor platted with leaf designs hovering over one particular wounded man.

Harry recognized one of the men from earlier on. Long blond hair cascaded beneath a silver adorned helmet, desperate, urgent requests passed through his lips in the strange dialect he heard before. The figure continued to talk hurriedly while rubbing a poultice on the figures dry-leathery mustard-scarlet skin.

A faint breeze coursed through the area carrying with it the heady, herbal scent of medicinal treatments and scorched flesh. The Elite soldier's eyes, surrounding the hurriedly pleading young man, were bleary with unshed tears. Reactions slow almost disbelieving of everything occurring in front of them. Grieving, mourning moans surrounded the air, permeated off the very plant life and gathered soldiers. The trees themselves croaked and churned as if living the torment themselves.

"ADAR!" The young man cried hysterically while shaking the fallen man. Chanting in the strange dialect, pouring his very being into it. A faint prickling sensation washed over Harry's skin raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The sensation was so natural and pure. Warm and loving, it caressed and enveloped the skin.

"ADARRRRRRRRR!" the hoarse cry split the air. Harry felt a desperate desire to make his pain stop, to wipe the tears running down his face and onto the limp figure in his hands.

A strong pulse vibrated up his arm from his hand. Glancing downwards Harry noticed the Hollow on his finger pulsate a vibrant, eerie glow. Magical essence congregated around the stone, building in frequency until his entire hand seemed to glow with the eerie essence.

The ever present 'pull' from before slowly began to dissipate as he walked further into the woods. Coating everything and diffusing in various directions, the 'pull' edged him closer.

A sharp pang made itself known within Harry's chest.

It was as if his heart was full of electrical outbursts, firing painful bursts throughout his chest. Making deep scorch marks imprint themselves beneath his skin, mocking him for failing in his 'quest', for not solving the mystery it presented.

The magical essence surrounding the Hollow slowly encroached up his arm before coating his entire being. A hum was heard in the air, sizzling and prickling with the gathered magical essence around Harry and the supine figure. Harry's vision slowly clouded over in a grey hue.

He should have felt apprehensive about using the Hollow.

He should have questioned the Hollow's pulsation and coating.

Strangely enough, he was more afraid of the burnt victim before him than to question the Hollow's intent. Gathering his courage, Harry walked away from the shadows, feeling his extensive magic reach out and coating everything in its path.

The moment his magic touched the burnt victim ….everything changed. The world itself seemed to stop and stare at this momentous encounter. Everything lost its meaning to Harry but the victim in his eyes.

His Hollow did the impossible. His magic was not his own any longer.

Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, became the one thing Tom Riddle feared and revered.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

*Khuzdul Word for Friend – "Meri"

*Childhood nickname created by Young-Girion for Thorin – "Rin"

*Khazdazmeri – "Dwarven Friend"

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING~**


	8. Chapter 6 Waylaid Mitigation Pt II

**Chapter 6 – Waylaid Mitigation**

 **Part II**

"….. _Nan galad_." (To the light) faint voices whispered.

"…. _Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na_ _n_ _galad_." (Listen to my voice. Come back to the light.) The same voice intoned, hidden desperation leaking into the chanted verse. Thranduil felt the darkness closing in on his _hröa_ (body) and suffocating his _fëa_ (soul) with its malignancy.

Although deprived of his strength and body all but destroyed beyond repair, Thranduil held strong against the overbearing shadow. Grasping his most cherished memories and holding them closely to his heart while his physical self-drifted into the sea of oblivion.

Losing touch with his physical body, Thranduil roamed the vast grey expanse before him. Keeping a vicelike grip on his reasons for living, Thranduil searched for a way back to his Little Greenleaf, he searched for hour's perhaps even days, looking for anything that could be used for his purpose. Occasionally he would glimpse a ray of golden light, catch the whispers of the woods and the pure healing chants of his people in the air. With every step he took in their direction, Thranduil seemed to head ten paces back contrary to his intended destination. Changing directions but not destination, he would backtrack and head towards the fading light. Only to break into a run the last second and reach with his free hand towards the vanishing whispers of life. Snarling in frustration Thranduil stalked his way from the last 'doorway' to the land of the living and ran terse fingers through his hair. Pulling at the strands in amounting despair and incompetency.

"I refuse to be parted with my son. I refuse to remain incarcerated in this maddening grey-prison." He all but growled, cyan eyes flashing with steely determination.

 _"_ _Adar! Naneth! "_ a familiar voice cried. Snapping his head in the voices direction Thranduil narrowed his eyes in confusion….and grief.

The expansive land before his eyes slowly disappeared and transformed itself into a painfully familiar wooden glen encased with a large whimsical bed of trumpet blooms, lavender on the outside and white on the inside. Standing tall and proud in the center of the lavender bed, was a weeping willow tree. Slender, graceful with drooping branches, bathed in blue-green leaves.

A small, radiant elfling with sun-kissed blond hair and brilliant, joyful cyan eyes ran inside the glen. Holding an intricate cherry-twig crown with a matching rose petal-one in his small hands.

An amused female voice called out, _"My Little Greenleaf, what do you have there? That has you so excited?"_ The owner of the voice walked out of the shade and knelt before Little Legolas. Thranduil felt his heart clench painfully, a stinging could be felt behind his expressive eyes.

A warm, gentle smile graced her features. Little Legolas giggled before presenting his rose petal crown to her, puffing his chest proudly at the astonished look he received in turn. _"A beautiful flower crown for the fairest elleth in the GreenWood"_ he charmingly said with an adorable smile spread across his face showcasing his dimples. _"Blessed it be the lucky Eldar who captures your heart my ionneg." (Son)_ She bowed her head in silent invitation for Little Legolas to bestow upon her brow the crown. Placing her hands on each side of his face she leaned towards him placing a soft kiss upon his forehead. _"Thank-you for your thoughtful gift, Little Greenleaf."_

Thranduil watched as the pair turned their heads to the side, craning their senses as another figure comes upon the glen bringing with them a basket full of bread, grapes, elven wine and milk. _"A trail of broken hearts will be left in your wake Little Greenleaf, you're more of a charmer than myself. I fear for the kingdoms populace."_ The figure dramatically said while holding a hand against his forehead in mock-despair. Giggles met his statement before a child-like voice happily said, _"I want to be just like my Adar when I grow up! Strong, proud, honorable and benevolent to all!"_ The shadowed figure approached Little Legolas before ruffling through his hair, causing him to release a squeal of protest.

Thranduil has known grief as well as the back of his own hand. Throughout the years he has lost many of his people, family and friends. But none of those times could compare to the consuming grief he felt at this particular moment, witnessing one of his most bitter-sweet memories of times long forgotten. _"What do you have in your hands ionneg?"(Son)_

The shadow knelt before the child and proceeded to mimic the actions earlier completed by the young woman. _"A crown crafted by the very woods you will rule over someday. A crown fit for the Greatest Elven King second to none other but Grandfather."_ The shadowed figure released a peal of delighted laughter before grabbing the child and lifting him up off the ground. Before swirling around in circles causing the child to release joyous peals of laughter.

 _"_ _Legolas. My dearest Greenleaf."_ The figure placed a kiss on the child's cheek, hugging him to his figure and running his fingers through golden tresses.

 _"_ _Our little one is correct in his assumptions. It suits you, endearingly so mellon-nin."_ (Friend) The young woman generously beamed, a shy blush across her face.

 _"_ _Come mellon."_ (Friend) The figure said, wrapping a firm arm around the woman and planting a soft kiss upon her head. _"My greatest treasures"_ the figure whispered.

Thranduil watched as the memory slowly dispersed in a waterfall of glimmers only to reveal the very-real and solid personification of the young woman smiling serenely in his direction.

"This was always one of my most fond memories of us." The woman said with a faraway look in her hazel green eyes. She cocked her head to the side smiling at a memory only she could see.

Waist long hair flowed down a petite figure in a moonlit cataract, skin resembling the shade of freshly drawn milk and the incandescent of starlight.

"Thranduil, mellon-nin, you haven't changed since our last meeting. You're as stubborn and reckless as ever. Both traits that endeared me to you." Lady Alavara amusedly stated while ambling forward. Her deep V-neck royal blue lace dress flowing befittingly against her figure. The bodice was embedded with pure-white crystals in tulle satin. A long train in a softer shade of royal blue trailed behind her shimmering in starlight. Thranduil turned his head following her every move in a state of pure-shock. Along her slim neck rested the famed jewels of Lasgalen in a striking array of evened-layers. Each layer composed of numerous illuminated hand-crafted white gems, one layer beneath the other complimenting the exposed skin of her neck and chest.

"A-Alavara. It...It can't…." Unable to form a coherent sentence, Thranduil looks imploringly at his former wife and best friend. It used to be as natural as breathing to speak with each other. After spending decades married and even more as close friends, they knew each other inside and out with all their faults and strengths. With the untimely death of Alavara's love and with Thranduil's capacity to reign as King questioned, both childhood friends joined in a beneficial union for both kingdoms. As is the desolate and heart wrenching duty of the Royal and Noble Houses.

 _'_ _To marry for love is a coveted godsend. To marry for your people is an honor. To marry for the benefit of two kingdoms is a duty.'_

Light chuckles filled the space between both companions. She always had a smile gracing her face, eyes glittering with hidden mischief and joy. Standing before him now, Thranduil couldn't wrap his head around the experience much less seeing his deceased friend again. Was he dead? Or was this a last-resort his consciousness conjured in order to receive a semblance of comfort while he waited for judgement in Mandos's Halls?

"You are currently in the in-between of life and death, _mellon-nin_. (Friend)The mess you've gotten yourself into…" Lady Alavara shook her head in fond exasperation. "I wondered why Lord Oropher sent me to aid you in his stead and now I know." She sauntered in front of him and began stabbing his chest with her pointer finger to emphasize her words. "Thranduil, we have managed to forestall your 'death' this time around. Your reckless, although honorable, actions and penchant to act first and plan later will get you decidedly killed someday!"

Thranduil was still reeling from Alavara's revelation to pay her words any attention. "Father? He sent you..." he left the statement drift off. Lady Alavara stopped her 'prodding' assault on his chest and met his questioning gaze with her somber one.

"He would have come himself if he could afford to do so…" Alavara's brow furrowed in concern, she began wringing her delicate wrists in anxiety. Before Thranduil could voice his concern, Alavara continued with, "The world is changed; we can feel it in the water, we can feel it in the earth, we can smell it in the air."

Thranduil reached out with slightly trembling hands and placed them on Lady Alavara's shoulders bringing her attention back on him. "Thranduil, we fear _He_ is on the move again. There have been whispers of a darkness encroaching on the land. The illness in The GreenWood is only a smidgen compared to the darkness growing across the whole of Arda."

"What does Father need me to do?"

" _He_ has somehow managed to encroach on Valinor. The Valar have been fighting alongside us to drive the darkness back. Lord Oropher has been leading our forces on the front line. We believe another, more dangerous Puppet Master is at work. The Wyrm was not supposed to attack the Lonely Mountain. The Wyrm had been in a deep hibernating slumber for decades until now." Thranduil then finished for her… "The Puppet Master could have driven the Wyrm into action. Divide and Conquer. Attacking on both fronts to distract from the original goal." His eyes widened in realization. Lady Alavara nodded in agreement.

"The Lonely Mountain holds a strategic position to both defend and attack from the North with unlimited access to resources and difficult terrain to navigate through. Lord Oropher has this ongoing theory. By taking the mountain, the darkness gains a considerable advantage over our forces. The only forces strong enough to hold them back was the Greenwood's, Erebor and Dale. By setting the Wyrm against the only defending armies, the darkness eliminates two birds with one stone." Alavara grabs Thranduil's hands and encases them with her own. "Thranduil, you must hold the GreenWood against the darkness and recover the mountain. Something hides itself in Dol Guldur. What it is and its intent, I do not know. Keep your most trusted companions by your side." She hesitates momentarily, eyes glazing over with a milky sheen before clearing. "Be wary of the Dwarven King."

"Lord Thrain? What have you foreseen, _Mellon_?" Thranduil tensely asked.

"There is another more suited to be the Dwarven King. I believe others as well as yourself have acknowledged this so. Prince Thorin would be a more _stable_ and reasonable King than his Father. Beware the future encounter with him. Thrain hides something foul within himself. Something dangerous." She cautions. Thranduil finds himself nodding minutely processing the vital information, strategizing, planning his future moves.

"Alavara, I…how long have I been in this plane in the in-between? Legolas and the remainder of the gathered armies…we were..." Thranduil tries to remember the last few moments before the shadow consumed him.

Alavara makes a noise of understanding before replying, "Do not worry. Time flows differently here. Where hours pass in this plane of semi-existence, scant seconds pass in the land of the living." Thranduil releases a sigh of relief at the news. "However, the injuries you've sustained have been erased in this plane but upon your return…." She trailed off morosely. Thranduil kept his horror from showing and merely nodded his head ignoring the dread slithering up his spine.

Alavara, knowing him as well as she does, wrapped her arms around him. Engulfing him in a warm, comforting embrace. "You won't be alone in this. After the storm comes a new dawn. You have a beautiful life ahead of you mellon." She confidently proclaimed. He gazed into her hazel green eyes, looking for anything to the contrary. In the back of his mind, he barely acknowledges the shift of a breeze caressing his skin. "Everything's going to be different from now on."

"Tell our Little Greenleaf how proud I am of the remarkable young ellon he has grown into. He has a bright future ahead of him filled with such joy and adventure." Alavara whispered with tears streaming down her face. Thranduil cleaned them away with the pad of his thumbs, confused with her urgent request. That's when he felt it. The shifting breeze, the crunch of leaves and the ash coating across his vulnerable flesh.

"Alavara, will I see you again?" he pleaded.

"My dear _mellon-nin_ , I will always be watching over you and our beloved _ionneg_. With this parting, never forget my vow to you." Planting her delicate hands, palm forward on his chest above his heart, she plants a lasting kiss on his forehead and cheeks.

"No matter where you are. How far away you are. You could always find me right here." She leans her head against her hands placed over his heart. "I will always watch over you and our _ionneg_."

Thranduil slowly begins to fade, decomposing piece by piece ready to be plunged into his physical body surrounded in the abyss.

"Go home….A new hope awaits you and our _ionneg_." Alavara softly pushes Thranduil towards the fading glimmer. The last words he hears are a whispered, "Go home."

It was a peculiar experience for Thranduil. The transition between planes was eerily similar to the sense of having absolutely no control over his own body and actions. Like a puppet with its strings cut off, he ambled towards the voices. Feeling every inch of his body seize with pure agony.

"Uugh" Thranduil immediately starts feeling weakness spreading like a disease across his fëa and hröa, raging aches cripple his bones and joints. He slowly edges closer to the edge of insanity.

As suddenly as the pain began it receded. An outline of a man becomes visible to Thranduil through his pain induced haze. Dim lightening and sounds reach his ears.

 _"_ _Tergeo. Vulnera Sanentur. Tergeo. Vulnera Sanentur. Tergeo."_ A strangely accented, rich voice chanted.

A prickling sensation traveled through his scorched skin, the edges of his damaged vision slowly cleared. Loss of sensation tingled through his fingers and 'dead' toes. Expecting pain as the nerves repaired themselves, Thranduil was surprised to feel warmth spread through him leaving a refreshing sensation on the repaired muscle _. "Anapneo. Episkey. Vulnera Sanentur. Tergeo. Episkey."_

The dim fëa and hröa in his body slowly gained strength and solidified into his very being. His awareness grew as each minute passed by and the silhouetted man continued his libretto. Focusing on his fëa and hröa, Thranduil noticed the silhouetted man's magic form a mist-like substance course through his corroded veins spreading through his system. It was warm, yet cold as if ice-rain from Caradhras blew down and crystallized in his bones.

 _"_ _Anapneo. Tergeo. Anapneo. Vulnera Sanentur. Anapneo."_

There was a deadening silence in the refugee encampment before a shuddering intake of air shook the foundation of all parties gathered. Gasps of amazement and disbelief erupted all around before immediately quieting again. Heaving crouping lungful's of air traveled down his throat. Polluted with ash and death, Thranduil greedily inhaled the stale air.

 _"_ _Reparifors. Ferula. Reparifors. Ferula. Reparifors. Ferula."_

Relieved susurrations traveled through the woods and gathered parties. Whispers and mutters of awe and astonishment met his aching ears. The trees softly hummed a welcoming lullaby to Thranduil. Soft tempos and leaves rustling against the breeze calmed him significantly. Stifling a groan of discomfort, he blinked his eyes completely dissipating the cloudy spots. Gray skies met his disbelieving eyes. A loud gasp escaped him as he realized he could _see_ from both eyes when previously he only had one good eye.

Not wanting to hope for the impossible, with an astounding amount of effort, Thranduil lifted a heavily bandaged and splinted hand to his face. Seeing red, yellow and peach colored flesh beneath. Twirling his fingers and pressing them against his newly healed eye. Testing the nerve and twitch he previously had no sensation in.

"H-Ho…" Thranduil was plagued with a chest rattling whooping cough expelling onyx phlegm on a rag held by a mysterious young-looking man. Wheezing from the effort, Thranduil is momentarily star-struck as he stares into his eyes. If it was somehow possible, the man's eyes held every shade of green the GreenWood canopy held in the coming of the summer solstice. Mesmerizingly bright and transient in its breathtaking beauty. Full of mystery, and alluring depths of an untamable force.

"Adar!" the once desperate Elite warrior cried. The young man swiftly moved away, gazing around before a frown marred his handsome face. Awed Men, Dwarrows and Ellon's bowed in a gesture of deepest gratitude. The tortured cries of the wounded ceased in intensity only to be replaced by relieved moans and blessings. The mysterious young-man slowly edged towards the shadows, meanwhile Thranduil kept his eyes locked on his every move.

Suddenly a scouting patrol yelled frantically in Sindarin. "YRCH! Na arms! YRCH! Na arms! Beri- i aran plural erain or erein!" ("To arms! Orcs! To arms! Orcs! Protect the King!")

'SWOSH.' 'SQUELCH'. 'THUD.'

A black broad-head arrow buried itself deep within the lingual nerve and the upper-lower portion of the unsuspecting Ellon's jaw.

"Zanbaur" ("Elfson") An Orc Captain abroad a filthy blood coated Warg Mother snarled out in Black Speech before spitting upon the body.

Yells broke through the momentary cease fire, then a series of ranged volleys filled the encampment. In a flurry of small close-combat, a group of armored Ellon's grabbed Thranduil and moved along the woods leading the fallen King to safety.

"Afar Angathfark" ("By the forge of my soul!") a small contingent of heavily armored Orcs followed after Thranduil. Legolas and his guard engaged the foul creatures. Black blood bathed the ground immediately followed by guttural squeals and death throes. By the end of the cries, twelve deformed corpses lay beneath their feet. Three Wargs with vacant rider's dragged dead bodies behind them, maws open spilling over with bloodied saliva and severed flesh.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

"Undur Kurv" ("Fat Whore") "Vrasubatburuk ug butharubatgruiuk" ("We will kill all the men and sodomize all the women") growled a viciously, vomit inducing beast as he lustingly gazed in Harry's direction. Exhausted by the unexpected influx of magic, Harry bolted in the opposite direction. Gleeful yowls reached his pounding ears as he ran. It was complete chaos. Harry desperately tried to call up any residual magical essence from his core and the ambient essence around him but kept coming up with mere sparks.

'It took everything I had to heal the wounded. Especially the cyan-eyed one. I brought him back from beyond the veil of life and death. What consequences would follow after that?' he idly wondered before tripping on a defiled Elite warrior corpse. Seizing the opportunity, the closest beast lunged at Harry's prone form. Aiming to embed its blade between his clavicles.

 _Harry was quick to pry the crude bone-shaft blade from the deformed, ghoulish fingers of the cross-breed between house elf and goblin, above him. Swirling around and butting the edge of the bone-carved handle against the beast's temple, he stumbled on his feet before regaining his balance. Feet shoulder-width apart, hands firmly grasped on the handle Harry wearily held his ground. Holding the bone shaft blade steadily, level with his nose-cheek bone._

 ** _"_** _Lul Gijak-Ishi!" (You have flowers in your blood!) The beast snarled, pushing back with his massive bulk._

 _The tallest of the bunch, consequently the only one carrying a makeshift shield, with an upward stroke slashed at Harry's exposed back._

 _Harry was tackled by the unarmed one, the beast immediately began wrapping its leathery-ghoulish fingers around his neck. Effectively cutting off his air-supply._

 **-LINE BREAK-**

It was hopeless. Even with Eruchil's efforts in healing the wounded, the enemy's numbers were too great. Our men are running on reserves, the healed are far too weak to properly hold a blade in their defense. Thorin beheaded a Warg in one swift stroke before bellowing in common tongue, "Breakout!" An emergency retreat was executed with precision. "Disengagement!" Thorin followed. Retreating forces avoided the approaching enemy and forestalled any attempts of enemy encirclement. Keeping at the forefront of his mind the importance of having the healed-wounded men escape. "Argh!" he grunted as a blade pierced his tough armor and prickled his skin. He swung backhandedly before slashing downward with his blade. "Center Peel!" Healthy men and Dwarrows helped carry the still-too-weak wounded as regiments of mixed armies continued the battle. Peeling off the formation diagonally while avoiding stacking crucial units in one-spot for too long.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 _Writhing underneath it, Harry tried unwrapping the beast's hands from his neck with his wounded arm, while the other slowly plunged the crude-blade onto the exposed neck area of his enemy._

 _Hiding his crude blade behind his shredded shirt, on his lower back, Harry turned his attentions to the injuries he had sported. Nothing overly serious besides a few scrapes and bruises, gashes on and around his upper torso. If only he still had his potions and healer's bag. After being chased by those pointy-eared fair haired and faced people? Angels? Mythical creatures? Harry bolted, feeling over-whelmed and perhaps a-tad – spooked when they all of a sudden began looking at him as a hero, no worse than a hero, a savior of a kind._

 _Tearing apart a portion of his ruined shirt, Harry wrapped it across his abdomen tightly, staunching the bleeding. Gripping his long broad-blade again, he set about again, cautiously making his way deeper into the forest._

 **-LINE BREAK-**

Dying throes haunted the retreating allied armies. Fear the ever present companion of many. Running with the quickly vanishing strength and energy, many began to lose hope as they were continuously run down like animals. Howls of Wargs and their Masters followed behind them. The clanking of metal and blade cutting into flesh caused paranoia to be rampant.

Regiments quickly came upon corpses of dead Orcs and wondered who could have killed them if not them. A squad of elves was seen chasing…..a panicked Eruchil? Troubling thoughts made their way into their hearts. 'Why was he running from them? Was he the one to kill the Orcs they encountered a ways ago? Is he leading the enemy away from them?' ran through their minds.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 _Harry thought desperately, his abdominal wound has reopened and he was beginning to feel faint from blood loss._

 _His magical core has been nearly depleted… His stamina and perseverance was running low._

 _"_ _Cín injured! Please darth-!"(You're injured! Please Wait!)_

 _"_ _Ha na- ú- safe!"(It is not safe!)_

 _Muscles screaming for rest, slowed down by drowsiness and the remnants of adrenaline pumping through his veins, Harry broke through the trees coming upon a large emptied meadow before plummeting head first behind a hidden grove. Heaving pained breaths momentarily, before taking off again._

 _Suddenly, out of nowhere another blond haired pointy-eared purser landed right in front of Harry._

 _His surroundings were dimmed, moving in a strange mirage of lights and shadows. Breathing became difficult._ _Harry immediately noticed the difference between this new arrival with that of his trampling pursuers. This fellow, had an air of nobility about him._

 _He had long, blond hair almost silver braided back from his handsome face. Hair slightly disheveled as if he had spent his time flying like the wind across falling leaves. Which added to his other-worldly appearance. His eyes framed by thick blonde-almost silver eye lashes brushed gently across his fair, pale face. A faint dust of rose colored his cheeks, a hint of a gash was on his cheek. Obviously fresh, on the right side of his face._

 _"_ _Im finallui found cin."(I finally found you.)_

 _The regal looking creature before Harry, murmured almost vagrantly. Before Harry could think of anything to escape, the dots in his vision clouded his eyesight, the nausea he held back came back with a vengeance. Consciousness waning, Harry felt a pair of strong arms steady him before a swift period of air-proneness passed and he was carefully placed against a warm chest._

 _Eyes fluttering closed, Harry's last thought was of the familiarity between the new comer and the poor burnt soul with the same tortured cyan eyes._

 _"_ _HELP ME" Harry subconsciously pleaded to the ambient magic around and within him. Not knowing what such an act could create._

 **-LINE BREAK-**

Far to the East, beyond sickly woodlands and strange glimmering barriers, lies a stunning authoritarian Kingdom rich in magical essence and never before seen creatures to the whole of Arda.

Deep within cavernous halls and richly furnished rooms, a special head house-elf worked tirelessly. Dressed in scarlet and gold vest, trousers embroidered with Godric's insignia of a roaring lion, Dobby rattled off duties needed to be completed to any awoken house-elf.

"Next, is the kitchen? Oh! Yes, yes! Pantries must be cleaned and restocked. Head Master Potter…" Dobby stopped immediately causing the small group of house elves under his instruction to look up in silent question. Dobby ignored them and focused on the essence surrounding the New-Hogwarts. Bat-like ears twitching every few seconds before a panicked gasp exploded from the tiny being.

"HELP ME" Harry James Potter whispered.

With a thunderous clap Dobby apparated in front of the awoken centaurs. Before he could voice his discovery, Firenze neighed and rose on his hind legs.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

Harry's eyes were closed one moment and in the next it was as if the entire, surrounding area were his eyes and ears. Harry felt every living organism in his vicinity react to his sub-conscious plea. The woods he found himself in, was a sentiment being, living, feeling, full of memory and determination. Every component that made up the woods worked in harmony, for one purpose.

The heart of the woods was its inhabitants. Like any living organism, to fight a virus and any other invading toxin, anti-bodies are released as white-blood cells fight off infection. Harry focused his magical essence through the woods, every plant, tree and leaf.

Responding to his magic the woods themselves began converging in on themselves cutting off the approaching beasts from himself and the retreating Natives. Yowls and grunts of pain reached his ears. Branches, twigs and vines ensnared the persistent pursuers and strung them against thick trunks until they all but became foul-smelling tree sap.

Closing his eyes, Harry followed the vein-like structures of the leaves and woodland floor. Mapping out the surrounding area before pinpointing the still accessible areas for the approaching beasts to past through. Smaller veins from baby saplings alerted Harry of an approaching host mere minutes away, this approaching host was aid. Harry was euphoric, he could sense everything, and he was one with the plant life overflowing with Life. It was addicting.

" ." Harry spluttered as warm blood spewed out of his mouth. The rolling nausea and creeping exhaustion slowly lulled him under its spell. Feeling faint and cold, Harry slowly breathed trying to focus his thoughts and body to the situation on hand. A numbness began to spread around his body. Sluggishness made it difficult for Harry to impede his pursuer's path as efficiently as before.

Ba-duh Ba-duh Ba-duh….Ba-duh…Ba-duh..Ba-duh Ba-duh…

He couldn't see it, but felt it as his heartbeat slowly began to dangerously. The blood-pumping muscle within his chest cavity decreased berating against his rib cage as the sluggish numbness wrapped its traitorous hands around it.

Haggard breathes intermingled with his own. A thundering heartbeat thrummed painfully against his ears. Goosebumps race along his spinal cord as the same panicking dread coursed through Harry's veins. He had to stall the foul beasts. There was nothing to it. The beasts must not get to _them_. Was Harry more worried over his group's safety or that of the pointy-eared creatures? He couldn't be sure.

Crashing branches and snapping twigs alerted him to the closely approaching beasts gaining ground. 'We need more time. We need to hold them off a little while longer for aid to come.' Harry thought to the woods. The mindless, chaotic stumbling of the beasts against the woods tactics sent an intolerable, searing disgust through his very being. The foulness of the beasts against the pure nature of the Life hidden beneath tree bark, sickened him immensely.

In response to his observation, the living plant life broke through the earth, startling the Natives into a frenzy. Roots exploded as wicked, looping whips, writhing like seizing Nagini's before tearing into enemy flesh and bone. As fast as the roots rupture from the earth, the impending assault grew in intensity and body count. Vines twine and creep from tree branches as make shift nooses wrapping around offending necks and strangling the life out of the foul beasts.

Thundering hooves, woods morphing and writhing upon an earthen tsunami wave parted the glen apart revealing a hoard of mythical creatures.

"By Aule's beard!" A Native gasped in shock before hoarding the surviving warriors together into a manageable defensive line.

In his semi-conscious state Harry was able to spot the cause of all the commotion. Ten centaurs in a mad crazed-haze crashed through the morphing woods. Hoofs catching against unsuspecting Gundabad Orcs. Centaurs dashed down the line milling, kicking, crowding the stragglers enclosing them into a bloody-hooved death. As soon as the thundering hoofing and screeching ended silence ensued. A second group of foul creatures spilled into the bloodied glen.

Dobby snaps his bony fingers together, golden sparks erupt in a shower of fireworks as the tainted beings are disarmed. Growls of protest and anger meet his deed. Charging forward unaware of the righteous anger and loyal bringing, coursing through the three foot tall house-elf with bat like ears, the Gundabad Orcs stumble upon seeing crude-blood stained Orcish weapons levitating in the air before being impaled as ghoulish pincushions. One tainted being tries to sneak up on Firenze, Dobby transfigures an ivy-vine into a golden whip emitting pure golden-white light and aiming the stock of the whip at its deformed face. The ghoulish creature's cruel eyes flash and bares its chipped fangs in challenge. Dobby brandishes the whip and quick as lightning severs the head of the tainted beast. Another immediately takes its place. Firenze, white-blond hair swaying in the air, palomino body reared ; snarled in disgust before swinging his dual-blades at the creature embedding them deeply within its chest.

The sound of stifled breathing catches Firenze's and the herd's attention. Firenze's neck arched as his hooves stomped on the bloodied woodland ground. Dobby held him quietly, bulging tennis-ball sized eyes scanning the crowds for his beloved Master. Just as the crowds quieted the main focus of the magical creatures was on the semi-conscious young man with slick tousled raven locks covered in singed-tattered robes and oozing crimson blood from a severe long gash on his side and abdomen.

Firenze slowed his gait, pausing head held-high and amber eyes wide. A quick glance toward the bleeding Head Master, his heart began beating rapidly in fright. Dobby leaned to the side, stretching his skinny, clothed arm forward, palm facing upward with fingers stretched wide. Golden sparks lightning every few seconds across his fingertips.

"Greetings Funny-eared man! Dobby is head house-elf, and Dobby has come to save Master and his friends!" Dobby said, wide eyes unblinking. A soft, slow tilt of his lips giving the impression of an impish smile.

Dobby watched as the Funny eared man holding his beloved Master opened and closed his mouth. Eyes wide, disbelieving and glancing in various directions before settling on the young-man in his arms. Raising his eyes once more in Dobby's direction before transferring the young man over.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING~**


	9. Chapter 7 A New World of Problems Pt I

**Chapter 7 – A New World of Problems**

 ** _POLL CLOSES ON APRIL 30_** ** _TH_** ** _, 2018! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE!_**

 **Part I**

 ***Excerpts from '** _ **Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets', '**_ **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire',** **by J.K. Rowling in this chapter. All credit goes to her. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

The first rays of sun light peak through the horizon painting the land around Hogwarts Castle in a warm glow. Contrary to the peaceful dawn outside the castle's walls, a flustered Dobby and disapproving Nearly Headless Nick made their way to the Hospital Wing where a certain raven haired young man slumbers his worries away. Power-Walking, an impressive feat for a short house-elf like Dobby to accomplish without causing hysteria to run rampant amongst the other house-elves , both Nearly Headless Nick and himself transverse through marble staircases along corridors and past curious on-looking portraits who kept attempting to stop and interrogate the pair on recent happenings.

Crossing flights of stairs and through a set of ornate, Cherrywood double doors. At the far end of the Hospital Wing lies the Private complex, where Harry Potter slumbered, opposite to the entrance with a raised dais. The floor across the hall was made out of engraved Living Stone covered in protective runes , keeping the injured protected at all times. The hall itself was overlooked by an intricately carved gallery, at the other by a series of floor to ceiling cathedral windows allowing the warm rays of dawn to pour into the space. Small particles of essence could be seen beneath the dawn's first rays, floating aimlessly in space. The soft padding of Dobby's footsteps the only sound disturbing the harmony of the hall. Coming towards the only painting within the secure space, Dobby muttered, "Fortuna Mayor", before stepping through the paintings frame into a passage with a door at each end, one lead to the room Harry Potter slept in while the other lead into a more specialized-apothecary for emergency cases. (Nearly Headless Nick glided over the space and through the walls unencumbered by the same obstacles as the house-elf.) Rich tapestries decorated the passageway with historic deeds completed by Wizards and Witches across the ages.

Snapping his bony fingers together until golden sparks erupted across his skin, Dobby ran his hand across the ornamental iron door. As soon as his magic touched the surface, a clinking of massive hinges could be heard as the bolts, locks and nails retreated spreading the door wide open into a well-lit, comfterble chamber. The chamber itself was as large in length as the hall. Two cathedral floor to ceiling windows were located, one on each side, of a large fur covered bed in bold crimson-gold designs. On the left side of the chamber was a lit hearth under a louver (opening for the smoke to leave through). Attached to the chamber was an additional space for bathing services.

Soft snores reached the pairs ears as they further walked into the room. Dobby immediately scurried over to his Master's side before softly shaking his shoulder. When that gathered no response whatsoever, he did the next best thing.

'That hurts – get off – ouch –'

'Master Potter must wake up, sir!'

'Stop poking me –' he croaked, burying his head beneath a mountain of warm, cozy and inviting furs.

'Dobby must poke Master Potter, sir, he must wake up!'

Harry opened his bleary eyes. He was in the Private Section of the Hospital Wing; the warmth of his furs quickly abated as they slipped off his head as he'd been roused, and the side of his face was riddled with creased fur indentations.

He sat up, stretching his incredibly sore muscles, blinking in the bright daylight. A cloud of confusion settled as a thick haze over his thoughts. 'What happened?' Harry cocked his head to the side, looking at Dobby for an answer.

'Master Potter needs to hurry and get dressed!' squeaked Dobby.

'The Funny-eared and short-hairy men will be gathering in the Grand Hall in ten minutes, and Master Potter –'

'Funny-eared? Short-hairy men? Ten minutes?' Harry croaked. 'Ten – _ten minutes?'_ Harry rubbed his bandaged hands over his tired face, feeling the beginnings of a headache approaching. Closing his eyes in an attempt to gather his thoughts , Harry remembered the thrilling encounter with the Dragon , following the Natives , going into a trance-like state and being chased by foul inbreed house-elf-goblins. Groaning loudly and slumping back against the bed, Harry tried to convince himself of never seeing the expressions of awe on the fair-haired and short-statured Natives.

"By Merlin's Beard!" Harry hissed as a throbbing pain demanded his attention. Resting his weight on his elbows, Harry leaned forward before lifting his striped pajama shirt (when did he get changed?), a long herbal-smelling bandage was wrapped tightly across his abdomen. Pressing a tentative touch on his wound, Harry examined the damage before deeming it healed enough to proceed with his investigative inquiry and information gathering.

Rising again, this time with more caution, Harry dangled his legs on the side of the bed. Getting the blood flow to circulate through his legs and warm his too-cool to be healthy skin. Feeling aches and pains throb through his entire being, he felt stiff as if he had spent an entire week under the 'Petrificus Totalus' charm in the same slouched position. 'That can't be right. I must have spent at least a day recuperating after the magical exhaustion dragged me under.' He reasoned while gazing out of the window only to see the sun rise into the clear sky above. "Dobby, how long have I been in the Healing Hall?"

"Three days Master Potter has been asleep. Dobby has been taking care of Master, yes Dobby has yes, Kreacher has seen to Master Potter's guests and has been keeping them to the Healing Hall and Grand Halls until Master has awoken." Dobby rattled off, bobbing his head up and down causing his ears to flap uncontrollably against his temple. "After Dobby heard Master call for help, Dobby and the centaurs rode to aid Master. We found Master wounded and surrounded by strange creatures. Dobby thought it best to bring Master back to Hogwarts Castle for healing. Dobby only wished to help Master yes he did. Did Dobby do the right thing with bringing the strange creatures to the castle too? They seemed to be in need of help and did not give out any malicious magical energy towards Master at all." Dobby nervously tattered away, tugging against his clothes anxiously, staring diligently at his feet and avoiding meeting Harry's eyes. Harry thought back on the precarious situation the Natives found themselves in and how desperately they fought to protect their home and own. "It's not so different from his own actions during the war. Not to forget I ran headfirst towards it." Harry looked down at Dobby, reaching a hand out and rubbed his ears soothing the nervous house-elf.

"You did good Dobby. Real good." Harry murmured fondly. "Always coming to my rescue in hopeless situations. What will I do without my friend?" Dobby leaned into Harry's palm and nuzzled it, hazel eyes brimming with happy tears. 'Harry Potter freed Dobby, showed Dobby kindness and became Dobby's first true friend. When Master and Friend calls for aid, Dobby always comes.' Harry smiled warmly at the blushing house-elf, before rising to his feet. Holding his tender side, Harry made his way to the built in armoire on the right side of the room searching it's depths for appropriate attire before his 'meeting' with the Natives. After a few minutes and annoyed mutterings from the young wizard, Dobby inched forward and began searching for his Master's clothes. "I have it under control Dobby."

Dobby nodded his head appeasingly with a slight curl of his lip. "Dobby knows sir. Dobby wishes to help is all. Helping our Masters in anything 'tis part of the house-elf's duty, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir, we upholds the family's honor, care for our Master's needs and we never betray them". As soon as the words left his lips, Dobby pulled out a mountainous heaps of clothes. Harry arched an eyebrow in silent question. While Dobby tutted and discarded the fabrics not up to par. Meanwhile Nearly Headless Nick remained silently brooding in the corner. Feeling an intense glare aimed at the back of his head, Harry turned his head to look over his shoulder. He wished he had ignored the creeping sensation. Upon establishing contact, Nearly Headless Nick became corporal once again and walked up to Harry. Hands firmly planted on his waist, Corporal Nick, silently stared into Harry's eyes. An intense air of disapproval emanated from Corporal Nick.

"Do you have any idea of the predicament you have caused?" Nick calmly said. In a way, it was worse than if he had yelled. The deadly calm was unsettling to Harry, he fought back the urge to take a step back and held his ground. He wasn't afraid of Nick in any way, Harry was more apprehensive at the level of displeasure the usually cheerful ghost currently displayed. "Our goal was to establish a secure area around the castle grounds and to find any 'awoken' magical creatures and bring them inside the castle's walls. For safety. The school's barriers are not up to full capacity, Head Master Potter. While the barriers may be able to keep dangerous land-borne creatures out, what's to say no air-borne one's could fly above the half-raised portion, hmm?" Corporal Nick nodded his curly head in silent agreement with himself, before about facing and pacing the room. "According to the centaurs, a malicious burst of magical essence was coming steadfast in the direction of the lonely mountain miles away from our current location, what in the world of Merlin possessed you to leave the boundaries of the castles grounds?"

Harry looked down at his bandaged hands, contemplating on his response not having paid close enough attention to Nearly Headless Nick's usage of 'Head Master Potter'.

"It is difficult to explain the exact reasons of my actions…This new land holds mysterious creatures and magical stores that may pose a threat to all gathered here. Where we could have ignored the malevolent power surge of essence, we could have additionally brought a dangerous foe closer to our half-shielded halls." He began, Dobby motioned for him to undress. Obliging the unusually silent house-elf, Harry continued his reasoning, "With the centaur's confirmation and skittish behavior, I could not risk allowing anything dangerous to reach us if it completely decimated the surrounding civilized areas. Moreover, there was this strange sensation lulling me forward." He hesitated, Corporal Nick stopped his pacing and looked in his direction curiously. "It was a compelling 'pull' of sorts, it called out to my magic like a conscious living organism calls for help in dangerous situations. The desperation and agonizing pain its cry for help held…." Harry stopped, breathing deeply before shrugging his arms out of his pajama shirt, carefully maneuvering around his banded abdominal side. "I could not have ignored the pull, it would be immoral and cruel. If I have the power and capacity to help, then why not use it to help the innocent and defenseless?" Dobby handed him a stark-white shirt with an oblique asymmetric stand collar. Nearly Headless Nick remained silent, pondering his words and rubbing his stubble chin. Slowly buttoning his shirt, Harry thought over his latest adventure before settling on the hysterical cries of the wounded.

With a heavy sigh Corporal Nick folds his hands behind his back and nods in ascension. "While I reckon your reasons to be justifiable and honorable, I must insist on this aspect at least." Harry nodded for him to continue while grabbing the black fabric Dobby held out to him. "When you were repairing the connection between the reservoir …" Nick began. Harry held out a hand while the other rested at his side.

"Let's not mention that bloody fiasco yet, it is too early in the morning too break down and analyze the circumstances which stranded us here."

Corporal Nick concurred before starting up again, "Very well, I shall be straight forward as a result." Nick straightened himself and tensed his shoulders as if preparing for a reprimand from Harry. "The Sorting Hat has been molded into the new anchor, the reservoir is stable and no longer in need off scheduled monitoring for it has established a more profound link with a living host." Harry felt the blood drain from his face at Nick's insinuation. "When the explosion occurred it affected all within the enclosed area, most significantly, those who were within arm distance. As a consequence, the house-elves Dobby and Kreacher, are able to practice higher –level magic, while I am able to morph my very being into both corporal and semi-corporal forms. As the one who held the Sorting Hat while repairing the rift within the reservoir, it is concluded…you are the living anchor for Hogwarts Castle. Therefore, you are the living embodiment for Hogwarts. You are her chosen Head Master and protector. You are her heart and voice." Nick sincerely intoned.

Harry was left speechless. Opening and closing his mouth in vain. Thousands of thoughts raced through his mind, trying to comprehend the enormity of it all. At the foremost of his mind his thoughts screamed over the unfairness of it all, the complete irony of the situation was not lost on him. Here he was, trying to repair his only home, only to be screwed over by said home. Granted, it was a horrible accident that lead to his current situation but his irrational self-did not seem inclined to be reasoned with in this particular moment. If Harry understood correctly, which he undoubtedly did, as Hogwarts Living anchor he is essentially immortal. As long as magical essence courses through Hogwarts Living stone and therefore through his very being, he can't die. Harry can bleed and feel pain. He could receive nourishment and suffer from hunger pangs. But he could never, _truly_ die. As Hogwarts chosen Head Master, which meant all of the magical creatures lives where in his hands. The responsibility for their continued existence in this strange new world rested solely on his burdened shoulders.

It truly wasn't enough for him to be Master of the Hallows, The Boy Who Lived, Savior of the Wizarding World, and Vanquisher of the Dark Lord. He was an anchor to one of the most abundant magical stores of pure essence the magical world has ever created.

Tom Marvollo Riddle feared death with a burning passion. Spending years of his life searching for ways to outrun death by divulging in the Dark Arts. Tearing his soul apart and storing them in objects to prolong his miserable existence.

And all the while, Harry Bloody Potter only had to be holding the Sorting Hat and beneath the reservoir, at exactly the right place and time, and wait for a magical explosion to make him immortal. Brilliant. Truly brilliant.

Harry laughed disbelievingly startling both Dobby and Corporal Nick. "The irony of it all…" Harry explained when he calmed down, voice thick with slightly hysterical mirth.

"Mr. Potter?" Nick ventured.

"As if I didn't have enough to go through during the past few years…" a chuckle escaped him, "even after the war and the constant hero-worshipping was nothing compared to this….this twist of fate!" Harry laughed again, holding his injured side.

Shaking his head in utter denial and disbelief, Harry looked down at himself before deciding on taking everything in stride. "Well…it's not like I bloody hell have a say or a way to reverse it now do I?" he asked no one in particular. Corporal Nick, hesitantly nodded, feeling compassion for the young man before him. Indeed he too saw the irony of it all, but he also hoped for Harry to be able to see the hidden blessing this unexpected gift bought him. By being immortal and Head Master to the magical creatures, he could live a relatively tranquil life within the Castle Grounds, explore the nearby lands and invest in gaining insurmountable amounts of knowledge away from the clamor and constant pestering of the Wizarding World. He could only hope that in time the young man could grow to love and cherish his new position.

Buttoning up his black, slim fit trouser pants with pockets on either side, Harry held out his hand for the burgundy fabric in Dobby's hands. Cautiously placing one arm inside each hole, Harry tugged on the fabric getting comfterble in the awkwardly formal attire he was 'forced' to wear. Glancing in a nearby mirror above a modest vanity table, he took stock of his profile. The burgundy colored fabric turned out to be a slim-fit mid-thigh robe, similar to a muggle's version of a modern casual blazer. Running terse fingers through his bed hair, Harry tousled the ink strands above the top of his head before trying to tame the long fringe of chaotic strands to a semblance of order before foregoing it completely and resting his hand at the short cut on his nape. 'What has my life turned into?' he mused acerbically. "Master Potter, your wand holster and your wand." Dobby held out said items at him. "Thank-you Dobby." Harry pulled up the sleeve of his arm and methodically tied the holster against his pale skin. He grabbed the Elder Wand and felt a prickling sensation across his skin, it oddly felt as if skeletal phalanges were tenderly caressing him. Stifling a shudder in the making, he placed the Elder Wand in the hoister before covering it up with the burgundy dyed sleeve. A loud chime echoed across the castle signaling the start of breakfast in the Grand Hall. "Come Master Potter, Dobby will accompany Master to the breakfast meeting with the funny-earned and short-hairy creatures. Dobby will even promise to bring English Blueberry muffins to Master first thing!" A large weight settled inside his stomach, Harry could feel the 'hero-worship' about to take place. It was a possible fear of his, it could amount to being worse this time around than in the Wizarding World as a whole. 'Come, Harry Potter!' squeaked Dobby, plucking at Harry's sleeve. 'You is supposed to be down by the Great Hall with the others, sir! We are already late!'

'It's hopeless, Dobby, for I fear the Natives would only go searching for me sooner rather than latter' Harry said hopelessly. 'I'm not going to hide in my own home or be cowed into hiding. Let the story of my life return with a vengeance. I don't know why I even bother trying to live a normal life –'

'Harry Potter _will_ live a normal life!' squeaked the elf. 'Dobby knew Harry had not wanted to be worshipped so Dobby has told the others in castle to treat him as normally as possible! Dobby will make Master happy and have a normal life! Dobby does it for him!'

'What?' said Harry.

'Dobby will make Master's wishes come true yes he will! Dobby will also take him to see the wounded after he has fed Master! Especially the wounded one with Master's magic around him like a cocoon.'

'Cocoon? But I don't recall every 'cocooning' anyone! Are you sure it's a 'magical cocoon'–'

'Dobby knows, sir! Master Harry Potter has to go into the Healing Hall and find his Crispy-Earl! –'

'Find my what?'

'– and tend to his Crispy-Earl's rash from the Wyrm!'

'What's a Crispy-Earl?'

'Your Crispy-Earl, sir, your Crispy-Earl – Crispy-Earl who is red all-over with cyan eyes!'

Dobby turned a corner leading them both deeper into a secluded hall with dozing sleeping portraits.

'What?' Harry gasped. 'He's here…He's within my Healing Halls? _'_

'The thing Master Harry Potter will want to see most, sir!' squeaked Dobby. 'And past a brief breakfast meeting–'

'– _"_ _The Hollow's Sleep",'_ Harry recited, staring, horror-struck, at the elf, _'"I must make my way towards him. Merlin knows what the Hollow's Sleep could do to the Native..."_ Dobby – what've I got to do?'

'You has to eat, sir!' squeaked the elf, and he put his hand against the double doors leading into the Great Hall spreading them open. All whispered conversations ceased and every foreign fair and dark head turned in unison, similar to porcelain dolls in Halloween, silently staring at him. Harry was inadvertly glad for having the foresight to place his clenched hands inside his trousers pockets. Keeping them from shaking (out of anxiety) in front of foreign and possibly future enemies, line of sight.

'Right before you go and visit the Healing Hall, sir –English Blueberry Muffins!' Dobby confidently lead them towards the lone front table where in previous years Professor Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape and others dined. Harry was distinctly aware of how, when he passed the Natives would rise and bow lowly before him muttering, "Eruchil" reverently. Keeping up appearances, Harry nodded slightly in acknowledgement. It seemed to be the correct source of action since the Natives beamed up at him. In some cases, the farther down he and Dobby walked, the more of 'worshipping' behavior increased. It was particularly testy for Harry to school his features when one Native, possibly a mere human man, went so far as to kneel before him and graciously thanked him for saving his brother's life. At least, that is what Harry managed to make out from how fast the man spoke and motioned with his hands to the man next to him. It was a strange form of Old English in which they spoke. The dialect of this new world was one closely related to that of Great Britain, the only differences in enunciation Harry could immediately point out, would be the pronunciation of 'th' and 'r' in certain phrases. Once at the head table, Dobby lead him towards the main seat, dreadfully Harry sat upon Professor Dumbledore's chair, once settled, all of the Natives sat down once again and presumably waited for Harry to begin eating his meal. Courteous of them. He felt like a strange creature being examined by them. Every move he made was carefully observed and catalogued in their minds. Harry valiantly hid his growing unease and irritation. 'The Wizarding World all over again.' He thought morosely, as he ate as quickly as he could without drawing the suspicions of the dining Native's before him.

'Dobby,' said Harry once he finished his meal, 'listen – once you lead me towards the man under the Hollow's Sleep, I want you to contact Firenze. Tell him to scout the grounds and to pay close attention to the wandering Natives as they venture around the castle. Have Kreacher place 'Confundo' charms on every hall that does not lead to the Great Hall, Healing Hall and the Common Area. We cannot afford for any accidental mishaps from either party until we know for sure if they pose no threat to us.' He couldn't quite forget that the last time he trusted a professor, much less a foreigner had tried to murder him, and he had ended up with a stone scythe choking the life out of him in the middle of a cemetery witnessing the resurrection of Lord Voldemort.

'Dobby will make sure, sir!' said the elf earnestly. 'Dobby understands things, sir, he is a house-elf, he goes all over the castle as he lights the fires and mops the floors, Dobby heard Nearly Headless Nicolas tell other house-elf's in the staff room, talking about the safety precautions… Dobby cannot let Master Harry Potter be in danger or lose his Crispy-Earl!' Harry nodded in gratitude keeping an eye on the whispering Natives. Throughout his and Dobby's conversation he had not seen any recognition or suspicion creep on anyone's faces. In fact, he theorized, while the human men could somewhat understand his own version of English, he reckoned the fair-haired and short-statured Natives were not fluent in it. A gift in it of itself.

Harry's paranoid-doubts decreased slightly. Standing to his feet he pulled off the chair, grabbed his chalice of Pumpkin Juice and nodded his regards at the on looking Natives. They returned the gesture, but remained staring at him in curiosity. Dobby lead the way once again, with Harry taking occasional sips of his Pumpkin Juice to stall off the increasing bundle of nerves in his stomach. Once done with his drink Harry waved his free hand across the surface of the chalice and watched in startled confusion as the chalice disappeared. He had not been confident enough to believe his wandless magic could work without a dangerous life-or-death situation encouraging him to do so. An interesting new development he will further study and hone in case, in a very highly unlikely situation, where the Elder Wand is not functioning properly. Dobby traced there steps and turned across corridors before stopping in front of double Cherrywood doors in the opposite direction of were the Private Healing complex was located.

'Dobby is going to be cataloguing the repaired areas and helping Kreacher place the 'Confundo Charms' around the castle, sir!' Dobby squealed. 'Dobby will answer when Master calls– good luck, Master Harry Potter, sir, good luck!'

'See you later, Dobby!' Harry responded before placing a cold hand upon the ornamental door handle and opening the door.

Occupied beds where lined up in symmetrical proportions front to back in the massive hall. Floating trays with neatly arranged poultices, bandages and potions circulated the room. A small group of house-elves wearing white pillow-cases with a small red cross boldly imprinted in the front labeled them as healing-apprentices. In stark contrast to the room Harry was in, everything was pale amber with clean linen, cozy and welcoming. The cathedral style windows were transfigured into a colorful surrey of moving tainted- glass depicting a half-immersed merwoman sunbathing atop a slanted rock.

Privacy screens were placed methodically around the area, obscuring the view of the more crucially wounded Natives from prying eyes. Two privacy screens in particular caught his attention immediately one was guarded by a handsome raven haired man about the same height of Harry, with strong, broad shoulders. Chiseled looks and a long narrow nose. A closely cropped beard outlined every chiseled aspect of the man's youthful face. Long intricate braids fell on either side of his face with silver beads braided within. Azure eyes were fixated on everything, watching, thinking, weighing his options within the room. Beside him stood a young fair-haired man with pointy ears peeking out of long blond hair, braided back from the sides. A faint outline of a gash barely visible on his hairless cheekbone. Long thick eye-brows, over expressive cyan eyes. Both Native's turned their attention to the hidden figure behind the screen. Harry could just make out the subcutaneous layer of skin from an unbandaged leg.

The other screen, from what Harry could see from his position, held a man. A pair of long skeletal-esque legs could be made out from the ends of the privacy screen. Black trousers and leather boots were the only things Harry could make out. Harry had the distinct sense of Deja-vu course through him momentarily before he ventured forward towards the 'guarded' privacy screen.

Unknown to him, his world and beliefs were about to change.

It was only a matter of time.

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING~**


	10. Chapter 8 A New World of Problems Pt II

**Chapter 8 – A New World of Problems**

 ** _PAIRING POLL CLOSES ON APRIL 30_** ** _TH_** ** _, 2018! VOTE! VOTE! VOTE!_**

 **Part II**

 ***Excerpts from '** _ **Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets', '**_ **Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire',** **by J.K. Rowling in this chapter. All credit goes to her. View Disclaimer in Section Titled "Disclaimer & Summary"***

House-elf's bowed their heads in Harry's direction, causing the wounded Natives who were awake to glance in his direction as well. Harry vaguely acknowledged them as he came to a halt in front of the two 'guards' before the privacy screen.

Before Harry could so much as greet the two, the raven haired one bowed his head while placing his hand above his heart. A moment later, the fair haired Native, mimicked his actions although he gazed upon Harry with an intense imploring gaze. A nagging tugging sensation alerted Harry of having met this particular individual before.

Harry had no concrete answer as to why he was engaging them in such a familiar manner, he found himself saying, "You were the one who lead the search party after me." As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like a complete idiot. Most Natives who spoke to him did so in the flowery dialect instead of English, it would be awfully embarrassing for him to ask for a translation or stand there unsure of what to say. Therefore giving them an opportunity to possibly use it against him. If there's one thing Harry Potter could say Mad Eye Moody engraved into his head, it would be the importance of "Constant Vigilance!"

"My Lord Eruchil, you are correct. It is an honor to be before you." The fair haired one said. "I am known as Prince Legolas Thrandulion of the Woodland Realm and Co-Captain of its Elite Silver Leaves. The stars shine upon our meeting." Harry kept his grimace at "Lord Eruchil" from his face, another unwanted title to the list. The raven haired man then proceeded to introduce himself. "I am called Prince Thorin Durinson, Heir to Erebor and Commander of Durin's Folk's armies. At your esteemed service." Harry faced another issue, if he did introduce himself he would possibly offend the Natives who have granted him his new 'title', on the other hand if he used his new 'title' he would be tied to the Native's out of honor. Opting to not make the Natives his enemies just yet, he settled with, "Eruchil. Eruchil Pervell, it is a pleasure."

Harry's gaze fell behind the privacy screen. Motioning to pass, both Princes moved aside. An air of unease and nervousness settled upon their shoulders. Harry passed through the opened space and beheld the cyan eyed slumbering man. Immediately as he stepped foot inside the closed off area, the 'pull' that caused all of the problems in the beginning, returned tenfold strong. Heavily bandaged as he was, Harry could make out the swift indentations of a well-toned physique underneath. In areas where a bandage was not utilized, in order to grant the skin beneath to breathe.

The familiar warmth of the Hollow on his hand spread across his being. Vaguely he heard the gasps from Legolas and Thorin, his complete focus was driven in healing the bane of his existence. For if it were not over the 'pull' between the two, Harry could of perhaps avoided this whole 'Eruchil' business altogether. Placing a palm on the man under the _Hollow's Sleep,_ the Hollow on his finger pulsed miniature essence waves around the duo. Soft scarlet hues illuminated the small area. Harry observed the way the man's firm chest moved as he inhaled and exhaled each breath. Strong, yet delicate collar bones protruded painfully from poultice bandages and brown-yellow flesh. Arms that could wield the mightiest of weapons with grace and strength, now rested limply against the blood stained linen. Legs that have marched in the defense off hearth and loved ones, tethered to frail patches of leathery skin. A struggling, heart pounding against the scarring tissue intent on bursting the organ with chocking pressure.

'Complete recovery will be near to non-existent' Harry grimly thought.

Harry placed his free hand on the figures cheekbone, barely touching the wrapped bandages across his face and head. His feather soft touches could feel the faint coolness from the poultice beneath, the most dominant of sensations was that of dragon's fire burning his fingertips if he left them there for too long.

"How does he fair, my Lord?" asked an anxious Legolas. Without breaking his ministrations Harry softly answered him. "As well as to be expected. The house-elves…" Thorin interrupted disbelievingly.

"House- _elves_?" before he caught himself and apologized. Harry arched an eyebrow and continued, "He has been placed in a Hollow's Sleep. I am currently exchanging essence and lulling his body to heal. He may be silent now and seem peaceful in rest. All to the contrary to his cruel reality. Even now, as I rest my hands upon his bandaged self, I feel the dragon's fire scorching his skin. His pain…" Harry left the statement hanging and focused on his 'patient', he was still unsure as to why he was so invested in his well-being. It was compulsive, he can't help it. Just as he acted in defense of Hermione and Ron, without thinking, he has to do everything in his power to help the man before him.

Beneath his fingers, Harry felt as the man began to wake and breathe heavier as the pain became the only thought to cross and conquer his rationality.

"Uugh, ahhgh" the man's eyes exploded wide open, revealing a startling shade of cyan half-crazed in agony and confusion. Legolas and Thorin moved to help.

"No. Remain to the side. He does not recall or recognize anything. His rational mind has closed itself off to fight off the pain. Remain where you stand, I doubt he shall wish to harm his comrades any more than you would wish to harm him." Harry quickly ordered.

"Gah-argh. Argh" The man groaned, pink saliva and fresh blood spilled to the side of his bandaged face. Panic seeped into his cyan eyes as they rapidly searched the enclosed space, his head lifted up from the pillow as he tried to find his foe before falling heavily on the pillow once again. A harsh cry of pain escaped his lips. Harry held him down as gently as he could. Blood soon began pooling around the struggling man. Freshly knitted skin ruptured and stained Harry's hands. Willing more warmth and comfort to surround the panicking man, Harry held the man's tossing head, and captured his crazed gaze with his own reassuring, soft one. "You're safe. You're safe now. No harm will reach you here." He muttered softly, making sure his eyes stared unflinchingly into the man's cyan ones. The man's struggles slowly abated, although every few seconds his whole body would shudder and whimpers would permeate the air. Garbled pants and groans, served as the only communication the man was able to utilize. The area around his tortured eyes was subdued and greyish, swelling bulges in sickly alabaster-brown swallowed and obscured the man's peripheral of the outside world. Two massive orbs of puss and fluid served as his eyes now.

' _The Hollows Sleep_ , served to limit the damage but the vast amounts of dark essence scorched into his skin and the numerous injuries he has will only impede the healing process. Normal methods will be of no use in this situation.' Harry mentally listed as he continued to calm the pained man. Thinking quickly Harry uttered "Lenio" while holding the man's gaze and holding him down with his hand over his heart. Like a showering mist, opal streams spread forth from his hands. A river of illuminescent rainbow colors seeped beneath the bandages. Harry released the man's head as his erratic, pain-induced movements slowed. Softly, holding the man's chin Harry slowly lowered it. Opening his lips enough for the liquid opal to travel down his parched and undoubtedly heavily scarred esophagus (from smoke inhalation). The Hollow on his finger throbbed as it became one with the pain relieving charm. A tingling-numbness spread through the man's body, relaxing his tensed and taut limbs.

Harry tore his eyes away from the semi-conscious man and looked over his shoulder to see a stoically faced Thorin and a misty-eyed Legolas staring at him in upmost reverence. "The charm I used will only last for three hours. I will have to make vials to be used periodically to keep him stable and prevent him from further harming himself." Harry rose from his sitting position and turned to directly face the Native Prince's.

"The usage of the vials will have to be sporadically spanned over a limited amount of time. If it is over-used it can cause more harm than good on his already grievous wounds." Harry turned his gaze once again on the numb, heavily bandaged man, "I wish to prevent him from hemorrhaging and causing more scar tissue to form."

Harry looked over the materials a floating tray held before moving on to a small long table which held multi-colored vials and a brewing pot. Hanging above a shelf, were dried plants and oddly shaped roots. Muttering under his breath, Harry suddenly looked up and called out "Head Apprentice!" A minute later a small thunder-clap echoed inside the small space where a small creature peaked its head inside momentarily before stepping inside completely.

The creature, was wearing a white tea-towel with a bold red cross on the front draped like a toga. It's long, bat-like ears were oddly familiar …

 _'_ _Winky?'_ said Harry incredulously.

The tiny creature looked up, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato.

'Did Master call for Winky?' squeaked the elf curiously, from behind a startled Legolas and amused Thorin. Its voice was higher even than Dobby's had been, a teeny, quivering squeak of a voice. Thorin and Legolas spun around in their spots to look. Though they had heard a lot about Winky from various men under their leadership, they had never actually met him or…her. Both looked on in interest.

'Yes, I did,' Harry told the elf, 'I need you to gather a couple of items for me.'

'I will be most happy too, sir!' squeaked the elf. She was bouncing up and down on her tiny feet, face shining with delight. Harry spared a warm smile for the cheery house-elf, "I require a jar of common yarrow, witch hazel, burdock leaves and root, mallow leaves and root, white oak bark and two whole jars of sugar and honey."

'Winky will bring the items quickly, sir – and you, sir –' her dark brown eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon the semi-conscious man, 'you is healing Crispy-Earl!' Legolas spluttered at the strange alias.

'Yeah, I am,' said Harry while gathering his materials to make a heady brew to treat scarring burn wounds, aches and pains.

'But Winky thought it was impossible, sir!' she said, raising her hands very slightly up to her face and looking awestruck.

'It was thought of as impossible to survive the killing curse and here I am' said Harry. 'His recovery will not be an easy one, but not impossible. Not while he remains under my care.'

'Ah, sir,' said Winky, nodding her head, 'ah, sir, meaning no disrespect, sir, I will have a few more house-elves prepare the healing waters for you.'

'Thank-you. We will be there shortly, bring everything I have asked for to the waters along with a fresh set of linens and bandages.' said Harry. Harry reached above the shelf and grabbed a jar filled with warty-looking knots of oak trees, along with a pouch which smelt of dried inner bark of trees and pine needles. Emptying both items into the moderate-sized brewing cauldron. The scent of mint leaves being boiled down reached everyone's noses. The man on the bed breathed easier, more calmly as the brew released the tannic acid from the dried pines. "Winky will do as Master says." A small thunder clap later, Winky disappeared.

Harry added the warty looking knots into the brew, causing the concoction to darken in color. "The darker the liquid becomes the increasingly vile the taste becomes in relation to the concentration of tannic acid." Harry began explaining, solely for the benefit of his small, curious audience. "Tannic Acid, provides a soothing relief to aches, pains and heat induced wounds, due to the acids astringent properties." In the back of Harry's mind, he idly wonders what Professor Snape would say to Harry brewing dangerous, highly skilled pain potions. While Harry waited for the brew to reach its optimal boiling point, he began gathering chickweed leaves and crushing them into a potato-like consistency before storing it into a jar spelled with a heating charm. "Once the Healing Waters have been prepared, we shall cleanse his wounds now that he has been given a sedative. It is better this way, it will prevenient him from feeling too-much pain while the worst of his burns are….rubbed of any harmful agents." Harry winced as he finished his reasoning. Thorin and Legolas both paled considerably at the mere thought of it. Harry glanced purposefully in both of their directions, noticing the dark circles under their eyes, slightly disheveled appearance and clammy countenance.

Turning around again, he grabbed a pouch filled with mint leaves before he crushed the leaves into smaller portions and poured them back into a separate pouch. Grabbing a smaller cauldron, Harry filled it with a large dose of liquid garlic and sorrel, before placing the pouch of crushed mint leaves within. Harry worked in relative silence for a few more minutes before the small-thunderclap of Winky signaled her return. Glancing inside the smaller cauldron, Harry grabbed a small pouring spoon and filled two small potion vials with the bright cool-lime liquid.

"The process of cleansing him will be long and arduous. It will require more magical assistance than previously. Take these vials and drink them. You may watch over him when you have rested." Harry handed Legolas and Thorin the vials.

'I do not wish to…" began Legolas, but one look from Harry had him retreating and unstopping the vial. Thorin followed soot. Once Harry was satisfied, he motioned for Winky towards him. "Place them in the Private Complex, two rooms down from my own. Wake them when the man has been cleansed and bandaged in a handful of hours."

"Yes, sir" Winky bobbed her head before leading the sedated pair to their rooms. Harry turned and checked his heady pain relief brew before pulling his arm sleeve up and untethering the Elder-Wand from its holster. The same feeling of unease crawled up his arm as skeletal phalanges gripped his forearm and ran idle patterns across his goose bumped flesh. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Harry tries to channel his focus completely on his magical core. Remembering the over-powerful spells he used against the Dragon, he tried to suppress the influx of ancestral essence and use a miniscule amount of it for his intended purpose. Similar to a raging river in flood season, Harry slowly builds up a dam narrowing the flow of ancestral essence coursing through his veins into smaller streams within his venules. Greatly reducing the influx and guaranteeing the slumbering man's survival.

With a swish and flick he intoned, "Wingardium Leviosa". With much care and maneuvering, Harry led the semi-conscious man through the back of the privacy curtains and down a well-hidden hall. After 300 steps, the pair came upon an open cavern.

Unlike the Prefects bathroom Harry used in his fourth year, the healing waters was built within a cavern. Imposing arched column ways were placed methodically, surrounding the large circular pool with rising steam. Each column surrounding the circular pool was inlaid with various carvings in Ancient Latin promoting well-ness and healing. The water itself was a pale-natural green mineralized with spicy herbs and mint leaves. The stone beneath his booted feet hummed in greeting, golden swirls lit up the stone walkway towards the healing pool. Harry followed the swirls constantly checking the half-conscious man levitating by his side. Removing his boots and robe, Harry carefully wanders inside the circular pool. With careful movements Harry removes the soiled bandages from his wounded side and sets them aside. Gathering the Elder Wand, Harry flicks his wrist, causing the other man's bloodied bandages to disappear painlessly. When he was done and he had a firm foothold within the pool, Harry safely levitated the man into the pool. The man hissed in discomfort, cyan eyes more alert and focused. Harry lifted his chin with careful fingers, staring into a dark shade of cyan, like a sea of untouchable sapphire pearls, and watched as they steeled into determination and unwavering focus. Wordlessly, Harry helped the alert man deeper within the healing waters. Soaking every part of his scorched flesh with common yarrow leaves creating a barrier against further bleeding, the floating petals of witch hazel helping in shrinking the blood vessels preventing future hemorrhages. Harry flicked his free wrist and the jars of sugar and honey floating towards him. Unstopping them, Harry poured a small amount of honey within his palm and slowly rubbed the syrupy concoction against his exposed scarlet-mustard flesh on his chest. Cyan eyes followed his ministrations, silently observing the poultices used and there immediate relieving effect.

"It's to help prevent infection. The water in this pool works in tandem with my magic and brand of medicine." Harry whispered, coating the man's heavily scarred cheek with honey and aspen. "This wasn't your first experience with Dragon fire, was it?" Harry asked quietly, his brows dropping slightly in contemplation. "I am unsure if you are able to understand me…I will try to help you as much as I can. Dragon Fire is difficult to heal…especially one tainted by darkness." Harry explained. Running his hands over the man's bald head, coursing through the few burnt patches of once-silvery blond hair. Harry looked down at the man when he felt a faint touch against his arm. The man was staring intently up at him, pale-green droplets fell across his face reducing the swelling obstructing his peripheral vision. As the swelling went down, Harry was surprised at how different the man's facial contours were after the healing herbs seeped the darkness burned within. As a mist of dark magic seeped out of his flesh, Harry watched entranced as the once obscured smoke-blackened muscle and skin stitched itself whole leaving behind a faint dusting of pearlescent rose. The man's rough hand clutched Harry's forearm briefly in astonishment, brief tremors erupted across his frame. He opened and closed his mouth, gurgling in an attempt to form a coherent word or sentence.

"C-Can f-feel a-again…." The man whispered to Harry, disbelief weighing heavily within the simple confession.

"This is very good. We will have to go through this procedure three times daily to restore as much function as we can." Harry said, blushing in embarrassment as he was administering the poultice to the man's man's voice was eerily beautiful, suave and confident. Richly intoned with a tilt to his words. The closest Harry could come to describing the sound would be between a mixtures of French, Italian with Spaniard enunciation. The situation was both awkward and uncomfterble for Harry, especially when he was holding an effeminate male rather intimately. The last person Harry ever held intimately had been Ginny before….before everything went to hell.

His eyes flickered when Harry rubbed a combination of honey and sugar across his neck, draining and repairing the skin beneath. Cyan eyes dilated as the dark magical essence continued to be drained and the flesh mended. Tremors wracked his frame again but the man seemed not to be aware of it, as he continued to gaze at Harry with an emotion he could not explain nor understand the intensity in which those eyes bored into his own.

"What is your name?" Harry asked the man while maneuvering his magical essence to pour and surround the healing flesh. Building a barrier to help protect his weakened body from outside pathogens. His magic shielded every portion of skin, the remains of silver-blond hair, nails, glands and non-existent nerves. Harry sincerely hoped the healing waters and his magic could help this peculiar being. Without the bodies largest form of protection functioning properly, he would not be able to survive for long. The skin helps the body to retain fluid, and fight against illness, eliminating waste and regulating temperature. Without these built-in lines of defense…Harry couldn't find it inside himself to continue with that line of thought.

"Thranduil…." The voice broke through his musings, shivers rolling his stomach again. "My name is Thranduil Oropherion."

Harry bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement before responding in kind. "Eruchil Pervell." Harry leaned over and moved Thranduil closer towards his chest. "I need to apply the honey onto your back, please bear with this for a few more moments. I will try to be as quick an as efficient as possible." Thranduil's back was broken, red and pearlescent rose in places, extending all the way down to his waist and his swimmer's legs. Excruciating if Harry had not used the pain relieving charm earlier on. Thranduil rests his head against Harry's shoulder, causing goose bumps to erupt across his skin as he feels the other male take in and release his breath. Harry spreads the honey-sugar poultice across his back, over the indentation of his shoulder blades and onto his lower back. Thranduil's breath hitches as new skin begins to grow and scar tissue dissolves, as Harry's ministrations massage and rub deep into the muscle and nerves beneath.

The mist rising obscures Harry's line of sight as he leads Thranduil over to the pool edge where he sits him down. Rivulets of pale-green travel down Thranduil's pearlescent rose upper torso, trickling as Harry's magical essence boosts its healing properties. Harry coats his hands with honey and crushed burdock leaves before softly picking up one of Thranduil's scorched legs. "I'm going to spread the paste over your legs, is that alright with you? It's to restore function of your limbs and reduce the pain." Harry questioned while locking gazes with Thranduil. Thranduil leans against a carved column and nods in assent. Relishing in the peace of not being in pain and being able to feel extremities he all but gave up in. Thranduil's lips parted slightly as he inhaled the herbal scents wafting from the pool of water. Harry's hands rubbed upward on Thranduil's legs. Leaving behind rose-colored flesh and droplets of pale-green. Honey dripped and mixed with the rivulets of water, as Harry's hands reached Thranduil's thighs. Spreading his fingers apart, Harry added some more pressure as his hands rubbed the muscle and sinew.

Harry arched Thranduil's leg slightly upwards to be able to spread the poultice all-over the injured flesh. Thranduil opened his half-lidded eyes when Harry traced his hands across his other thigh. Slowly he raised his shriveled newly formed flesh, coated hand and cupped Harry's cheek. Startled, Harry snaps his attention on Thranduil.

"Thank-you my Lord. Thank-you." The amount of emotion behind those few words were enough to suffocate Harry. "Your welcome." Harry found himself saying not being able to brush off the gratitude as he would back in the Wizarding World. Harry looked down at the delicate new-skin growing as his hands continued to push his magical essence onto the wounded flesh. Thranduil followed his ministrations and stifled the shocked gasp brimming to get out. He watched entranced as the newly formed skin came into being, more delicate than a puff pastry's flakey top layer. Before it morphed into a sturdy glaze overlay with a smooth coating of pearlescent rose.

Once finished with his treatment, Harry helped Thranduil to a stand-still as the man was exhausted from the little excursion. Whispering 'Wingardium Leviosa' once again, Harry returned him towards the healing hall. His breath's came easier and were not as labored. The swelling has decreased exponentially granting Thranduil his full vision. Harry carefully laid the semi-conscious man down on the cot covered in freshly washed linen and flicked his wrist. A neutral colored paste of willow bark and white-oak leaves spread across the more delicate and prone to infection portions of his body before being wrapped in fresh bandages. Once finished he moved towards his brewing pot and watched in satisfaction as the brew colored into an earthen-seaweed color. Pouring the brew into a vial Harry walked back over to the half-asleep Thranduil and lifted his head before bringing the vial to his lips and coaxing Thranduil to drink the heavily potent potion. He tried to gag it away but Harry persisted. Once the vial was emptied, Thranduil went under into a peaceful slumber.

Harry rose from his crouched position and laid a blanket over Thranduil before calling out, "Winky". A small thunderclap later, the small house-elf appeared.

Harry walked over and patted her head causing a delighted giggle to burst from the gushing house-elf.

"I need you to inform Prince Thorin and Prince Legolas of their comrade. In a few hours when they have rested." The house-elf nodded eagerly and disappeared once again. Harry rolled his soaked shirt-sleeve up before untethering the Elder Wand again and casting a heating charm on himself and his clothes.

Holding his burgundy robe over his arm, Harry walked out of the small room and away from the privacy curtain before his curiosity won over and he headed in the direction of where the skeletal-black coated legs rested. Reaching a hand out to part the privacy screens Harry feels a gust of cold air behind him before a voice he never thought he could ever hear again caused his blood to run cold and a deep ache to spearhead his heart.

"Harry."

 **-LINE BREAK-**

 **A/N: Divergence from original ( Poikaer Shrouded in Shadow) after Ch.9-10.**

 **~ SUPPORT THIS STORY BY VOTING, COMMENTING, FAVORITING, & FOLLOWING~**


End file.
